


I am destroyer I am lover

by numot94 (futureplans)



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Choking, Cocaine, Drug Use, F/F, Murder, Psychopath Irene, Smut, Violence, dangerous driving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureplans/pseuds/numot94
Summary: Seungwan has always lived a life of order and restraint, but she begins to think she might want more when she meets Irene, a mysterious woman with a spark of chaos in her eyes. What she doesn't know is that Irene is more than just a pretty face with a wild side and that she's been gambling with her life from the moment the two crossed paths.





	1. Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another fic for another pairing! This one is a bit of a mood change from my other stuff, but I promise it's not as dark as it might seem. It started off as a one-shot but then it got a little big so I split it in two parts and I'll post the ending in a week or so.

It’s a precise art. Every step must be taken with the utmost care, only after everything has been prepared and arranged for. Most of the time is spent waiting, but a good kind of waiting, the kind that makes the anticipation build pleasantly as the end approaches. It’s always warm, sweet, almost voluptuously delicious when it comes, but there’s something about the waiting, something so powerful that it’s hard to tell which is her favourite part.

As she waits, she idly sharpens the knife she’d been using. It’s a bad habit, she knows the blade is already sharp enough and she’s just reducing its lifetime, but she can’t help it. It’s a soothing ritual that she repeats every other week until the edge is sharp enough to nearly stab through the skin of her finger as she tests it. She doesn’t cut herself, of course, she’s not that stupid. She just likes to keep things neat.

Finally putting down the knife, she turns to clean up after herself. She has enough experience to keep the mess to a minimum, but there’s only so much she can avoid. There’s always the bags of flour and sugar to put back in the pantry, the broken eggshells to throw in the trash, along with the leftovers of whatever she’s chosen as the flavour of the week. The packaging for the chocolate or dried fruits, maybe the peels or pits of the selected fruit.

The oven timer dings and Seungwan rushes to open the door, letting cold air mingle with the stifling heat inside as her brownies finish baking. She takes a whiff of the chocolatey smell invading the kitchen and settles back with contentment. She clearly timed it just right, as she confirms by gently stabbing the uniform block with a fork. The inside is neither undercooked nor stiff.

She’ll have a square after dinner. Maybe two, to celebrate just how perfectly she’s baked them.

Maybe just the one, though. Too many sweet things aren’t healthy. She can bring the rest to work, for the interns or something.

She slices across the tray, making a perfect grid of vertical and horizontal lines that divide the dessert into individual doses, then transfers them to a plate where they can cool without the risk of sticking to the bottom. Leaving them to it, she exits the kitchen and crosses the hallway on her way to the living room, where she sits on the sofa and gazes at the blank TV screen.

Now that her favourite part of the weekend is done, she isn’t sure what do with the rest of her time. There’s grocery shopping on Sunday morning, but that still leaves the rest of this afternoon and all of tomorrow’s. Maybe she can get started on some work, there’s always something to be done.

She likes her job. It’s possibly her favourite part of life. It’s engaging, just challenging enough, the hours are as long as she’s willing to make them and it pays well. It’ll pay even better when she becomes a full partner and by all appearances that shouldn’t be a very distant prospect.

In the meantime, she makes enough to afford a comfortably spacious apartment, one where the kitchen is its own room and the front door leads to a hall and not something atrocious like the living room. One where the master bedroom has a walk-in closet and an en-suite bathroom.

She pushes herself off the sofa and heads to the study, which used to be the guest bedroom until she repurposed it. Whenever her parents visit they stay at a hotel, of course, and she doesn’t expect any other type of guest, so it made no sense to leave the room to collect dust. Only figuratively, that is. She has a maid for a reason.

Settling down in front of her home computer, she stretches her body for a moment then gets down to business. She scans page after page of legal jargon, pausing to take notes and highlight ambiguous sections of the agreement she’s been tasked with looking over. Corporate law is a fickle thing and it’s important to leave no accidental loopholes. Only the ones that were intended.

Every hour she pauses to stand, stretch her arms and fingers and correct her posture, then returns to her seat and continues her work. After a few rounds of this, she finally stops to prepare dinner. She ends up having two brownies. The second one feels like a delicious transgression.

(…)

She’s managed to stay at work until 9 pm, but now the lights are turning off, so she’s forced to pack her things and go home. It’s not too much trouble, she can just keep working at home if she wants, but the unplanned interruption irks her. She’d prefer to stop on her own time. The sensation follows her all the way home and she takes the elevator up from the garage only to step out on the ground floor and go for a walk around the block, hoping that the physical activity will soothe her irritation.

Night has fallen completely, the sky dark and lightless, but street lamps stand at close enough intervals that her path is always brightly illuminated. She’s not afraid of being attacked, not in this neighbourhood, and she’s got pepper spray in her purse if she might ever need it, so she strolls casually, taking in lungfuls of cool night air and waiting for the nervous energy pushing her forward to dissipate.

Eventually, she manages to take a frustration-free breath, then a couple that are actually tinted with the pleasure of stepping into the cold, silent outdoors and walking aimlessly. At her success, she turns around to return home. The exercise has made her a little hungry, but she’s already had a sandwich for dinner, a few hours ago. She debates having anything else to eat as she walks, still unsure as she reaches her building.

Maybe she’ll go straight to bed. She’s sure she could fall asleep without much trouble and this way she can get up earlier and go back to work. The lights might turn off at 9 pm but they should be back on by 5 am, so perhaps the trick is to get in earlier and leave earlier.

A woman walks by on the nearly empty sidewalk and their eyes meet for a split-second as she turns to face Seungwan. She’s met with the strangest sensation. The woman is well-dressed, her elegant pantsuit perfectly pressed, her hair as neatly styled as if she’d just left the salon and her makeup sober but effective. Everything about her seems precisely tailored, from head to toe, yet Seungwan can’t shake the feeling that usually rises in her at the sight of dishevelment. The unpleasant chill that almost has her squirming fills her with confusion and she’s left wondering what might have caused it as the woman walks away without pause.

Scouring her mind for a justification, she keeps getting pulled back to those eyes. They were wide, dark, their shape accentuated by makeup that was certainly not sloppy either. Already pushing the key into the lock of her apartment door, she finally realizes that it wasn’t anything about the framing of the eyes. It was the eyes themselves, the way they flashed with something barely controlled. With a sigh of relief, she concludes that the chill must have been caused by something in the woman’s demeanour or posture, something hinting at inner turmoil or chaos.

It makes sense. If there’s one thing that irks her more than sloppiness in presentation or tardiness, it’s sloppiness in a person’s mind. Uncertainty, hesitation, indecision, they’re all enough to bring on a headache. The way she sees it, if you want something you go for it, if you don’t you don’t. And if you’re not sure, then you mustn’t want it that badly, so you might as well give up and let someone else have their chance.

She thinks back to the woman’s eyes as she steps into her nightgown and slips under her comfortable sheets. It wasn’t indecision she saw, that much she knows. She can’t even imagine such a pair of eyes clouded by anything of the sort. It must have been something else, something she can’t quite pin down.

She falls asleep to images of smooth brown eyes, detailed far beyond what her casual encounter could have allowed.

(…)

She’s certainly surprised when she sees the woman again. It’s nearly 10 pm on a Tuesday, just like last time, and she’s returning home after another walk, this one motivated by the night custodian coming in 30 minutes early and making a hellish racket with the vacuum cleaner. Just as she’s arriving at the front door of her building, the woman walks by again, looking every bit as composed as last time.

Admittedly, none of that is surprising. The thing is, it’s been months since their last encounter and Seungwan is sure she hasn’t seen her since, not even once. She might not spend a lot of time roaming her own neighbourhood, but she still thought she’d run into her sooner, especially when she’s been looking out for her. She’s spent a lot of time lately thinking about that look in her eyes, frustratingly unable to tell what it might mean, so for the first couple of weeks she hoped they’d run into each other again so she could get another glimpse.

But again, it’s been months and by this point she more or less expected never to see the woman again, so it’s a bit of a shock to find her right where she was last time. She slows down, hoping to get a longer glimpse of those eyes before they’re gone, and nearly coughs out her surprise when the woman stops, stares right at her with a practiced smile and speaks.

“Hello again”, she says with a cheerful voice that stops just short of farcical. “It’s been a long time”, she adds, and Seungwan isn’t sure whether she’s trying to make a joke or actually being genuine. Before she can think it over much longer, a hand is thrust in her direction.

“My name is Irene”, the woman introduces herself, then shakes Seungwan’s hand as she places it in hers. Irene’s handshake is firm and decisive, allowing for one short movement before she’s pulling away.

“I’m Seungwan”, Seungwan replies quickly. The situation is a bit odd, but politeness comes naturally to her. Even as she says it, she’s focusing on Irene’s eyes, looking deeply into them. She’s only met with disappointment, as they look nothing like last time. They look calm, settled, decided, all good qualities, but that mysterious glint is missing and she nearly huffs in frustration.

“Are you sure?”, Irene asks as she tilts her head. It’s certainly an unexpected question, because is there anyone who isn’t sure of their own name? “You look more like a Wendy”, she adds as she notices Seungwan’s lack of response.

The comment is strange, but it almost feels like flirting. “Is that why you’re called Irene?”, Seungwan returns, and Irene’s lips split into a smile that seems more genuine than the last. She looks pleased at the suggestion.

“Goddess of peace”, she explains. Seungwan is a bit taken aback by the idea that maybe Irene actually isn’t her name. Did she really introduce herself to a stranger using some alias? Still, Irene is gorgeous and taking a step forward right into Seungwan’s personal bubble, so it can’t hurt to flirt a little longer.

“Goddess?”, she asks simply, a teasing smile on her face. “You must think highly of yourself”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t?”, Irene retorts, a perfectly shaped eyebrow quirking up as Seungwan’s thoughts spiral downwards towards the realm of humanity’s more base instincts. She takes another step forward and lifts her hand to lay a finger on Seungwan’s collarbone. “Anyway, I’m glad we ran into each other again. There was something I’ve been meaning to ask”

Seungwan listens expectantly. It’s only mildly concerning that she’s sure she’d let a complete stranger up into her apartment if Irene were to suggest it right now.

“Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?”, Irene asks instead. Seungwan takes it in stride, trying to remind herself that having sex with strangers is how people get murdered. The thought does little to comfort her, so she considers how Irene might have gotten her towels wet or drunk a glass of water and left it on the counter and it does cheer her up a bit that she’s avoided all of that.

(…)

The first date is a little awkward. The conversation is stilted as they try to find common ground, flitting around between the topics of family, hobbies, work, pets, never really settling down on one for long enough to relax and talk easily.

 “So, you’re a lawyer”, Irene points out between bites. Seungwan hums in agreement. “That’s interesting”

“Well, it’s not the most beloved profession, but I quite like it”, she replies diplomatically. “And it’s not like I set criminals free for a living. Or convict them, either. I work in corporate law”, she explains after a pause, noting the way Irene looks up from her food to study her.

“Corporate law, huh?” Irene rolls the words around her tongue, like she’s getting accustomed to the concept. “Do you spend a lot of time in courts?”

“Oh, no, I barely go there”, she replies, stifling a chuckle. “I mostly draft and revise legal documents. It’s not very exciting, I’m afraid”, she adds, not bothering to mention that she wouldn’t be particularly interested in an exciting job in the first place.

“It sounds interesting”, Irene disagrees with conviction. “It must require a lot of thoroughness on your part”

“That and the patience to look over the same thing some ten times”, Seungwan admits with a laugh.

Irene follows her words with silent intensity. “Those are qualities I can admire”, she says simply, then returns to her meal.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, Irene appearing unbothered by the lull in the conversation. Finally, Seungwan speaks up.

“So, how about you? What do you do?”, she asks politely. She has absolutely no idea and she’s a little curious where someone like her works.

“I’m a… freelancer”, Irene answers cryptically. “I can get jobs at any time, but the pay is very good and I don’t have to work that many hours”

“Oh, like an escort?”, Seungwan suggests, feeling her entire face redden as she realizes what she’s said. She curses her unruly thoughts, mortified at this uncharacteristic slip. To her relief, Irene only laughs.

“I’ll take that as a compliment”, she says with good humour, smirking attractively. “But not exactly, no. My work is less… physical”

After this, the topic changes to something more innocuous and soon they’re discussing impressionism and the temporary exhibition at the museum of modern art, which Irene offers to show her the next time they meet.

The second date is better. They have paintings to look at, so that breaks in the conversation aren’t bothersome, and Irene takes a tighter control of the conversation by asking seemingly endless questions about obscure points of corporate law. It’s almost like she’s spent her time since their last encounter reading up on the topic.

The third date is the best of them all, because it ends with Irene at Seungwan’s apartment, barely stopping for a look around the place before they’re heading to the bedroom. As Seungwan flicks on the bedroom lights, she catches a glimpse of Irene’s eyes, and that mysterious flash of something is back. A shiver runs down her back, one that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

She’s already taken off her coat, dropped it somewhat carelessly on a nearby chair as her movement is impaired by Irene’s lips on hers and her arms holding on to her waist. As soon as the back of her dress is freed, Irene’s arm snakes around her to pull down the zipper. She’s in a particularly well-fitted pantsuit, dressed in black from head to toe, and Seungwan can barely get her blazer off before she’s pushed onto the bed, open dress falling down her shoulders but still clinging to her hips.

Irene climbs on top of her and tugs at the top of the dress, waiting for Seungwan to push herself up so it can slip past her waist. She complies and sighs at the sound of the fabric hitting the floor. She can get it cleaned later. Irene is still dressed and she reaches for the buttons of her shirt, but her hand is lightly slapped away. She looks up to find eyes that don’t allow room for complaint and she is quick to acquiesce. She’s always appreciated someone who can take charge in the bedroom.

Hands grab her breasts roughly through her bra and she arches into the touch, exhaling in short stuttered breaths. Irene pauses to grab her by the waist and push her further in, so that her legs are no longer dangling over the edge of the mattress. Then she leans down and leaves a trail of kisses from her collarbone to her earlobe, biting her way down the same route and humming against the skin at each poorly-concealed moan she elicits. Seungwan’s arms are wrapped around Irene’s shoulders and she lets her hands burrow into her hair, nails reaching in to run lightly down her scalp as she tightens her hold instinctively.

Irene’s mouth doesn’t stop at her collarbone, moving down until she’s met with fabric. With one smooth movement, she pulls down Seungwan’s bra so that her breasts are fully exposed, then she continues her path downwards, tongue aiding her exploration, stopping only when her lips are against Seungwan’s nipple. Then she bites, not as gentle as before, and Seungwan trembles with the electrifying sensation. One of her hands slides down, under the collar of Irene’s shirt, fingertips brushing over the skin of her upper back, impossibly soft. With another shudder, her hands curl around Irene’s shoulders and push at them, hinting at her desire for Irene’s mouth to resume its downwards motion.

Her nipple is released with a pop as Irene’s eyes come up to meet her own. They’re narrowed, clearly not satisfied at the demand, yet there’s a hint of amusement to them. Like Irene finds it funny that Seungwan would even try to guide her actions. That look does more for Seungwan than anything before it and goosebumps erupt over her heated skin. She brings her hands back up to Irene’s neck with a face that she hopes expresses penitence, and Irene smiles approvingly before returning to her ministrations.

Seungwan squirms under Irene’s mouth, obediently refraining from pushing her down or reaching out for her frustratingly idle hands, which are planted on either side of her body but not actually supporting Irene’s weight, as she’s shifted so that she’s only halfway straddling Seungwan and her side is leaning on the bed.

Irene’s leg slides up and down between Seungwan’s, providing only fleeting and impossibly light pressure where it’s so desperately needed, but she keeps her hands on Irene’s neck, not exactly sure of the rules but hopeful that her good behaviour will be rewarded. Finally, Irene’s hand moves, brushing patterns across Seungwan’s stomach and reaching down, all the way down to the waistband of her underwear until the pad of her thumb brushes past the elastic, then reversing its motion and moving up to Seungwan’s free breast, which it kneads a few times before latching onto the nipple.

Seungwan’s back struggles to stretch off the bed, but Irene’s body over her doesn’t let it go very far. Her hands curl and uncurl, digging nails into the soft flesh of Irene’s neck until she’s sure she’ll break the skin.

Irene’s mouth pushes off her nipple, only to let the cold air contrast with her hot breath as her tongue reaches out to brush against it. Seungwan whines, because it’s been far too long for her to stand this kind of teasing with any kind of composure and she can only think of how much any part of Irene needs to be rubbing against her crotch. At this point, she’s sure she’d come just from a few seconds of grinding on her leg, but even that refuses to provide the desired contact.

Her own hands slide off Irene’s neck and she knows one thing she isn’t allowed to do, but she’s not sure about anything else so she takes her chances and lets her hands move down Irene’s chest until she’s groping her through her shirt, feeling the fullness of her chest even through the two layers of fabric. Irene hums thoughtfully and her hand releases Seungwan’s nipple in favour of massaging her breast slowly, without much pressure.

“Is that what you want?”, she asks casually, her voice strikingly clear against the fuzziness of Seungwan’s own mind. She’s not sure she can even speak, so she lets out a noncommittal squeak, experimentally letting her hands remain where they are. “Alright then”, Irene concludes, and pushes off Seungwan entirely.

Seungwan watches in anticipation as Irene sits up on her knees and starts to unbutton her shirt. She removes it easily, fingers steady as she pushes it towards the edge of the bed then slides her hands behind her back and opens her bra with a click. That gets pushed away as well, but she doesn’t stop there. She unbuckles her belt, unbuttons and unzips her pants, and finally looks back at Seungwan, like she’s remembered that she’s still there.

She lowers herself back onto Seungwan, raking her hand down her body, from her collarbone, across the valley between her breasts, until she reaches her hands, which she let drop on her stomach as Irene moved out of her reach. Her fingers curl around Seungwan’s right hand and tug it down to her underwear, shifting her hips to allow easier access.

“Go ahead”, she murmurs against Seungwan’s ear, hot breath bringing a shiver down her back. “We can take care of you later”, she adds with a smirk and flicks Seungwan’s nipple playfully with her free hand.

Seungwan opens her mouth to protest, but Irene’s face moves far enough away that she can look into her eyes, where the same fixed conviction shines. Apparently she’s made a mistake, or maybe this is part of the game. The thought of being denied her sweet release for who knows how long does send tense frustration shooting through her body, but it also releases a part of her that she never knew about before, leaving her panting in barely repressed anticipation as her fingers begin to move against Irene.

It takes an eternity to get Irene off, or maybe it just feels like it because every single brush of her body against Seungwan’s has her erupting in goosebumps and curling her toes at the unbearable heat in the pit of her stomach. It doesn’t help that Irene playfully moans and sighs with dramatic intensity at each brush of Seungwan’s thumb against her clit, each thrust of her fingers deeper inside her, each lick and bite at her nipple or throat. She hums every time Seungwan speeds up or slows down, pushes herself into Seungwan’s fingers, gasps and lets out shuddered breaths. Her reactions keep building and building until Seungwan is sure she must be close, but each time she reaches what must be the point of return she only sighs again and lets her hands fall from their hold on the back of Seungwan’s neck to brush against her nipple once, twice, before they’re moving back up and she’s moaning again.

Finally, her hand palms Seungwan’s breast and she shudders, eyes shut tight, twitching against her fingers a couple more times before her body grows limp. Seungwan shudders against her, feeling like she might jump out of her skin with a single touch, and waits politely for Irene to recover her breath. As she does, she fixes her with an amused look.

“Oh, is there something you’d like?”, she asks teasingly. Seungwan nods, afraid of what the consequences will be if she shows her, but Irene only tilts her head. “Well?”

“Touch me”, she breathes out, unsure how she’s even managed to string those two words together. Irene giggles, tapping Seungwan’s collarbone with the tips of her fingers.

“Here?”, she murmurs in a low voice. Seungwan shakes her head and her fingers slide down to brush gently against her nipple. Seungwan’s breath catches in her throat and she swallows thickly. “Here?”, she tries again, and Seungwan shakes her head once more. This time her fingers travel all the way across Seungwan’s stomach, settling on the waistband of her underwear, and Seungwan has to curl her hands into tight fists to keep from yanking Irene down where she needs to be, now. “Here?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to get some oxygen to her lungs before she passes out, then licks her dry lips. “Lower”, she rasps out, bringing a smirk to Irene’s lips. Her fingers move past the elastic band, down into Seungwan’s folds, and the very first contact has her jolting like she’s just been shocked. Irene’s fingers slip easily up and down and Seungwan can imagine why. Then they’re finally pushing where she’s needed them for so long and she lets out a long incoherent whine at the overwhelming sensation.

She can barely register the delicious touch before it’s all coming to an end in mere seconds. It’s too much, she can’t keep her body from rushing to the explosive conclusion as she shudders under Irene’s relentless movements. She comes with a choked shout, shivering as Irene never stops moving against her. It’s the first time she’s gone easy on her and Seungwan almost feels tears of gratitude spring to her eyes, amidst all the demanding sensations that grip her.

The second orgasm takes a little longer, thankfully, allowing Irene to show off just how good she is with her fingers. As Seungwan comes close, she shifts to bring her head down, kissing across Seungwan’s stomach and pulling off her underwear as she goes. Then she looks up to make eye contact with Seungwan. She doesn’t say anything, letting her eyes speak for her, and Seungwan certainly gets the message as she feels her limbs tremble with anticipation. Then Irene’s mouth is on her, finishing the job her hands started, and Seungwan grabs fistfuls of her sheets as she comes.

Irene comes up, running a hand across her chin to wipe it clean. Then she heads to the bathroom and returns moments later with a clean face, or as clean as she can get it without wiping off half her makeup. She picks up her clothes from where she’s left them on the edge of the bed and sets about buttoning her shirt back up.

“It’s getting late, I should go home”, she says calmly as she tucks it into place. She zips up and buttons her pants then checks her belt before fastening it.

Nearly back to her normal, rational self, Seungwan can’t hide a sigh of relief at Irene’s words. The thought of sharing her home with someone for an entire night and morning and having to politely accept the disorder she’d surely bring it is never a pleasant one, no matter how thoroughly the person in question has just fucked her.

“Alright, have a safe ride home”, she replies with a smile. Irene nods and leans down to kiss her goodbye, the touch barely registering against bruised and swollen lips, then steps out of the room. Soon after, the front door opens and closes, and Seungwan finally pushes herself up off the bed to go lock it.

(…)

Irene seems to know everything, from 20th century Italian cinema to cybersecurity to botany. If prompted, she’s capable of delivering lengthy and informative lectures on just about any topic, with no prior preparation.

She says it’s because her job requires so few work hours, so that she has all the time in the world to improve herself, which apparently means learning everything she can think of. It can be useful, when Seungwan needs to appear knowledgeable in a client’s hobby or interest. At these moments, Irene chuckles and remarks on how it’s useful in her own work for similar reasons. Seungwan still doesn’t know what she does for a living.

Irene knows more languages than Seungwan can keep track of. When they have sex, she whispers in her ear with such feeling that Seungwan wishes she knew what she’s saying. She asks, but Irene shrugs and evasively replies that they’re “the usual platitudes”. Seungwan hopes it’s nothing too emotional.

Because, to be entirely honest, Irene is a little boring. Sure, she pays attention, respects Seungwan’s space, takes her on interesting and expensive dates, even brings back chocolates or clothes after each of her business trips. She’s the ideal girlfriend, aside from a few quirks which Seungwan honestly treasures, like her propensity to take a lot of time for herself, and her sudden silences where it looks like she simply doesn’t feel like talking anymore.

The thing is, Seungwan doesn’t want an ideal girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter. If she did she’d have found one by now. Sure, the sex is good, but that’s no reason to keep entertaining someone who doesn’t stimulate her in any other way. Plus, Irene insists on calling her Wendy, like it’s some affectionate nickname, and the whole thing is a bit childish.

Irene lets Seungwan know that she has another business trip the next week. They’re having dinner at a nice French restaurant and Irene has arranged for a window-side seat through some hushed conversation with the hostess. If Seungwan turns to the right, she can see block after block of the city, brightly lit with millions of pinpoints of light. It’s good, because it means she can pretend to study the view as she delivers the news.

Irene is in one of her silent moods for most of the meal, so it’s easy enough to introduce the topic. As Seungwan gently lets her down, she sneaks a glance her way and finds that Irene’s face is emotionless, taking it in stoically. It’s good that they’re both being adults about this.

After dinner, Irene drives her home and they part ways. Seungwan goes back to her work-filled weekends, like slipping out of a pair of heels and into comfortable home slippers.

(…)

Seulgi is an anomaly. She delivers Seungwan’s groceries, brings them up to her apartment and even helps put them away. After she’s done, she smiles cheekily as she pushes stray strands of hair away from her face, reddened from the effort.

It’s been months since Seungwan last saw Irene. In the meantime, she finds that enigmatic spark in her eyes returning to her dreams and even her waking thoughts. It’s the only thing she misses, a glint of something unidentified that never failed to bring a chill down her spine. Over time, she realized that she wasn’t reacting out of displeasure, as she originally assumed. The truth is that whatever it was lured her in like nothing else.

The result is that now, long after Irene has left and with no desire for her to return to her life, Seungwan still looks for that spark. If she can find just the right type of chaos, the one that Irene’s eyes promised and Irene herself failed to deliver, maybe she can find what was missing in all her prior relationships.

So maybe Seulgi isn’t the anomaly and it’s Seungwan who breaks her previous pattern. Regardless of reason, she’s very attractive and Seungwan requests her specifically when she gets her groceries a week later. Seulgi seems to get the message when Seungwan approaches her in the kitchen and places her arms on either side of her, hands resting on the counter behind her. She puts down the flour she was handling and rolls them over, gripping Seungwan’s hips as she presses their lips together.

Seulgi is a starving artist of some sort, delivering groceries to fund her artistic career. She spends as little as possible on the things she considers inessential, like nutritious food, an inhabitable apartment or clothes that don’t look like they’ve been worn for a decade. The only luxury she allows herself is the motorcycle she rides when she’s not driving the grocery van.

She can’t afford fancy restaurants, so she brings Seungwan to the park or by the river and they eat sandwiches. She knows every corner of the city, places Seungwan never dreamed of visiting. Cheap, unclean places where her heels get stuck in the cracks of the uneven pavement. It all feels deliciously like a transgression. Son Seungwan, wealthy, professional, elegant, spending time with a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, unpolished and rough around the edges.

The only thing is, Seulgi is soft all the way in. She might speak with harsher words than Seungwan is accustomed to and take swaggering steps with her heavy worn-out boots, but it’s all just bravado. A shield against the harsh world, Seungwan assumes. It makes sense that some sort of coping mechanism would be required when you’re working a dead-end job and living a dead-end life.

Underneath all that, though, Seulgi is unnervingly vulnerable. A little too human. She tries to hide it, has the common sense not to fall head over heels for something that can’t possibly last, but it still shows in her eyes. It shows in how she sketches Seungwan’s face over and over in the little notebook she always carries, in how she giggles at Seungwan’s clumsy attempts to eat a hot dog without getting sauce on her blouse.

Eventually, Seungwan has to accept that Seulgi isn’t the chaos that she wants. She’s just a lost soul who’ll never go anywhere with her life and that’s not exactly the stuff of Seungwan’s dreams. It’s disheartening to realize, because she really doesn’t know where else to look for it. Maybe she should just give up, focus on her work.

They’re on Seulgi’s motorcycle, weaving through the light afternoon traffic. These are the moments when Seulgi comes closest to a bad girl image, with her leather jacket and full-face helmet, letting the engine roar because she knows Seungwan likes it. Seungwan’s grown more or less used to the feeling of riding a tiny speeding object with no protective walls between her and the road, but she still hugs Seulgi’s waist tightly as they speed down the road.

They stop at a red light, next to a Mercedes with tinted windows. It’s been freshly cleaned and it sparkles in the sunlight. Seulgi notices Seungwan’s appreciative glance and the resulting huff is hard to conceal when they’re pressed so closely together. She always did have a bit of an inferiority complex around the subject of wealth.

“You know, people get those nice cars but I doubt they know what to do with them”, she says scornfully, staring through windows so dark that the driver is impossible to identify.

“What does that mean?”, Seungwan asks with amusement. Seulgi’s angry tirades, being so rare, are always interesting to hear.

“It means I could drive circles around that guy with nothing but my beat-up old bike”, she replies simply. Her face is completely covered, but Seungwan can imagine the mischievous grin she’s sporting. Apparently there will be no tirade today, only some showing off. Even more interesting.

Seungwan tightens her hold on Seulgi as she starts revving the engine, turning her helmet-clad head towards the car next to them to make her intentions clear. She never engages in such alpha male posturing, but something seems to be different today. Maybe it’s the knowledge that their days together are numbered, the wish to leave Seungwan with something to remember her by.

There’s no time to further ponder the question as the light turns green and Seulgi’s bike jerks forward with violence, leaving the Mercedes behind them in a flash. Seulgi lets out a low chuckle, keeping up their speed for a bit longer.

There’s a flash of reflected sunlight on their right as the car reappears, effortlessly falling in step with them, then pulling ahead just enough to establish its dominance. Speed stable, it leads them for a moment before making a tight turn to the right. Seulgi barely hesitates before she’s following, leaning forward until her chest nearly touches the dashboard.

Seungwan is breathless, slumped over behind Seulgi as she watches the buildings fly by. She had no idea this old bike could even go this fast. They seem to be catching up to the car, which makes another couple of turns until they’ve left the main streets and are now chasing each other through smaller roads that twist and turn in all ways.

“Told you he doesn’t know what he’s doing”, Seulgi mutters through gritted teeth, making a hasty left turn that leaves tire tracks on the asphalt.

“What?”, Seungwan manages to gasp out, breath knocked out of her every time the bike teeters dangerously to the side, guided by Seulgi’s expert hands.

“Big cars are good for straight tracks. Bikes are better at turns”, Seulgi explains in short sentences, all she can spare when all her focus is on the chase. “I’ll be on him soon”

She cries out triumphantly when another right turn reveals the car, tantalisingly close. There’s just enough room on either side of the road to inch around it and take the lead and Seulgi’s head whips from side to side as she weighs her options.

Before she can settle on a direction, the car speeds ahead, increasing the distance between them as much as possible until the driver suddenly slams on the breaks, turning to the side to occupy both lanes. Seulgi curses loudly and has no choice but to follow suit, twisting as she pulls hard on the breaks and the motorcycle skitters forward dangerously, coming to a stop mere inches from the obstacle.

She’s off the bike in a second, pulling off her helmet furiously and stalking towards the front of the car. She tries to pull the driver side door open, but it’s locked. Seungwan watches it without moving, her entire body trembling. Eventually, she raises her hands to pull off her own helmet.

“Hey, are you crazy?”, Seulgi shouts as she knocks on the window. “You could have seriously hurt us”

The window rolls down to reveal the driver. It’s a woman in a large purple fur coat over a black top. Her long black hair is perfectly straight as it falls over her shoulders and her makeup is heavier than Seungwan has ever seen it. She looks like a completely different person, but it’s her. Irene.

Irene smiles, lips curling back to reveal perfectly white teeth. “Wendy, fancy seeing you here”, she drawls out. Seulgi whips her head around, but there’s nobody on the street aside from the three of them.

“Who’s Wendy?”, she asks with confusion. “And are you going to ignore the fact that we almost crashed into you?”

Irene arches an eyebrow at the comment, but doesn’t respond, still looking at Seungwan. She rests an arm on the open window and leans her head on it so that she’s looking up, eyes sparkling with mischief. And something else. Seungwan nearly trips as she pulls her leg over the motorcycle and steps closer.

“That’s… me, I guess”, she answers with a shiver. She almost stutters out the words, head suddenly empty as Irene’s eyes capture hers and pull her in irresistibly.

Seulgi turns to her, looking incredulous, and it’s almost funny. That she’d think Seungwan would hesitate for even a second. Like there’s any difficulty in picking between gentle, gooey Seulgi and this new Irene who just risked having a bike slam through her spotless car just to prove a point. Who’s looking at Seungwan like she’s Irene’s, no doubt about it. She swallows thickly and takes another step towards the car.

“Seungwan, are you serious?”, Seulgi tries again. At least she catches on fast.

“That’s Irene”, Seungwan points out, like that’s all the explanation required.

“What, your ex?” Seulgi’s brows furrow but Seungwan barely notices because the words make Irene bare her teeth in a low growl. What if she changes her mind? She can’t leave without her. “So that’s it? You had your fun with me but now she shows up with her fancy clothes and her car that costs more than my apartment and you’re done?”

Irene swings the car door open, catching Seulgi by surprise. She steps out to reveal a bare midriff and legs clad in skin-tight leather pants, sparing a glance towards Seungwan before she’s approaching Seulgi.

Seungwan knows that Seulgi is taller than Irene but now, in impossibly high heels, it’s Irene who looks down, a sort of amused contempt colouring her face. “Don’t embarrass yourself, kid”, she says condescendingly, and Seulgi bristles instantly. “You could be even richer than me and you’d still lose. You can’t buy style”, she finishes with a smirk.

“Well, if you’re so cool then why’d she break up with you?”, Seulgi throws back, and Seungwan really wishes she’d stop mentioning that before Irene changes her mind and drives off. She inches closer to the car then turns back to watch the confrontation. From where she’s standing, she can only see Seulgi’s face, looking encouraged by Irene’s lack of response.

“Now I suggest you leave my girlfriend alone, or I’ll –“

“Or you’ll what?”, Irene cuts off, all amusement gone from her voice. She takes a step closer to Seulgi, whose bravado crumbles into nothing as her face turns deathly pale. Irene raises a hand to poke at Seulgi’s collarbone, causing her eyes to widen in panic. She scrambles backwards, tripping over her feet and falling on her back.

Irene tilts her head at the reaction, then looks over her shoulder. “Wendy, get in the car”, she requests more than orders, like she knows full well that Seungwan is perfectly willing. She doesn’t need to ask twice, as Seungwan is already rounding the car towards the passenger side.

“Seungwan, wait!”, Seulgi calls out from where she’s fallen, not bothering to get back up. Her hand moves to reach towards Seungwan, but a fearful glance at Irene keeps it in place. “There’s something seriously wrong with that woman, I mean it. Something in her eyes” Her mouth hangs open a moment more before she snaps it shut, unwilling or unable to elaborate.

Seungwan stops in her tracks and turns to face Seulgi, her heart pounding in her chest. “You see it, too?”, she asks dreamily, her voice breathless and light. Then, at a nod from Irene, she turns around and steps inside the car obediently.

(…)

Waiting is her favourite part. All the planning and strategizing, following her target from afar to learn his routines, watching for an opening, a weakness that she can exploit. It can take days, sometimes even weeks, but she doesn’t mind. She’s always liked waiting, postponing her satisfaction, reminding herself that it’ll all be worth it in the end, when her target has nowhere left to run and she can watch the life drain from his eyes. She’s very patient like that.

It’s one of the reasons she was hired. They told her right away, that finding someone with her temperament is rare enough, but that patience of hers really pushed her one step above all the other candidates. Patient people are stable people, people who understand why certain conditions are imposed and why it might be in their favour to follow a few rules.

She can follow a few rules. She just doesn’t like it when the whole world is nothing but rules. For example, she never refuses any of the jobs she’s given and always fulfils them to the best of her abilities, even when they’re dreadfully simple and easy and beneath her. To balance out all that dreadful rule-following, she indulges in the occasional side project. Just for fun. She’s not sure her employers even know about it. They might have found out and simply decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble of confronting her, which is fine by her.

Right now, she’s on what just might be the easiest job she’s ever been given. She adjusts the sights on her sniper rifle and sits, heedless of the gusts of wind that sometimes strike the roof of the hotel. It’s incredible how easy it is to blend in in one of these places. All you have to do is put on a uniform and suddenly you’re like cellophane. People just look right through you.

Her target moves around inside his inconspicuous little house. Nobody is supposed to know he’s here, the whole world thinks he’s tucked away in bed on the other side of the globe and he’s taken all the usual precautions. Fake identity, decoys, a house in somebody else’s name… It’s all very nice, but when Irene’s employers want to find someone, they can be very efficient. So now he’s going to die on his little unannounced trip and everyone will know about it.

She’s not even sure why he’s here. Visiting some old lover or engaging in illegal business, perhaps. She doesn’t need to know any of that, because her target is kind enough to peek out of the house every morning and take a stroll around the garden, exposing his pretty little head for anyone with a sniper rifle on a roof to see.

With a careful bite, she finishes her croissant. Bread is just so much better in Europe, she doesn’t know how they do it. Maybe she can find a European-owned bakery back home. That would be nice. The patio door opens and she tenses her body in preparation, but it’s only a security guard making a perimeter sweep.

Settling back into inactivity, her thoughts drift to Wendy. She’s been orbiting the subject for the past few days, never touching on it directly because she knows what will happen. She needs to focus on her job first and when she gets back home, then she can save a whole day for her wounded pride, break a few things, stab a few other things.

Wendy is luckier than she knows, for so many reasons. First, because she got to date Irene. Second, because she made the huge mistake of putting things on pause, unaware that Irene is as good as she’ll ever get, but she did it when Irene had an assignment to occupy her mind, so that she was too busy to care about relationships. Third, because killing Wendy is more trouble than it’s worth. People have seen them together, they might connect the dots somehow, so if she did kill Wendy, she’d probably have to move somewhere else, maybe even get a new identity, which she doesn’t particularly want.

Irene likes her identity. Her name is her own, chosen on the occasion of her baptism by blood, and it means something. If she had to pick a new name, it would never be the same. She still remembers how it hit her, beautiful and intoxicating, a name fitting of her status, a goddess. When she buried her knife in her husband’s chest, all the way to the hilt, and watched him splutter out blood, she saw a whole new world open itself before her. She tasted happiness, real happiness for the first time in her life. She saw the last drop of life seep out of him, the peace that followed it, and she knew.

She was young back then, young and foolish. She was so stunned by the revelation that she did nothing to escape. Irene knows what she should have done. Remove anything that could lead to an identification, dump his body where nobody would look, pack up the essentials and move away, create a new identity for herself. But she was still Bae Joohyun back then, still transitioning, a chrysalis that was cut down before it could become a butterfly.

She spent a few years in prison, locked up for a crime of passion. It had certainly been passionate, though not in the way insinuated. Still, she was good enough at mimicking guilt and fear and regret, helped by years of practice, and it wasn’t hard to play the part. Something inside her told her that it was better to go to prison under this pretence than to show how she really felt.

She barely remembers that time, when all her thoughts were focused inwards, exploring every inch of her newfound self, testing the patience that has become her most valued asset. All she remembers is thinking, learning, planning, set against the blurry background of a prison courtyard, a prison bed, a prison cafeteria.

Then her employers found her. She was transferred to another prison, but there was a terrible accident on the way there and she awoke in an empty medical room, bandages covering her body all the way to her face. Her employers had been kind enough to provide some cosmetic surgery, change her in little ways, so that she would be unrecognizable.

Gratitude is not something with which Irene has much experience. It’s one of those emotions that she’s heard about but never actually felt. Like love or fear or sadness. She’s more proficient with things like anger, disappointment. Satisfaction. Still, looking at her new face, seeing those perfectly shaped eyes looking back at her, she knew that this was the point where someone else might feel gratitude. You know, someone who wasn’t a psychopath.

Because she was looking at Irene. After so many years, she’d finally turned into the beautiful butterfly she’d always known she’d be.

And now she’s Irene, body and mind and identification papers to match. Her employers tell her to kill people, she does, and they pay her well for her services. It’s a very nice life, all things considered. The only real thorn on her side is Wendy.

The patio door opens again and Irene snaps back from her thoughts in a flash. Her target takes a cautious step into the garden, flanked on both sides by muscular men in black suits, and his chest expands like he’s inhaling deeply. Irene checks the wind speed, carefully corrects the trajectory and pulls the trigger. The bullet whizzes away, silencer working so that only a slight whistle can be heard, and she can see the man collapse backwards, body gone limp. She doesn’t need to keep watching to make sure he’s dead, she already knows.

Instead, she quickly takes apart the rifle, putting all the pieces carefully into her case, disguised as an ordinary carry-on. Then she hurries across the roof, flies down the stairs and only adjusts her pace as she reaches the top floor of the hotel, where she’s left a cart of cleaning supplies. Stuffing her bag inside, she carries it across the nearly empty corridor and into the elevator, where she quickly removes her cleaning uniform and puts on casual clothes. The doors ding as she reaches the ground floor and she strolls out of the elevator casually, carry-on in tow, complaining to the first person she finds that somebody left a cleaning cart in there.

On the street, she puts on a pair of sunglasses and hails a taxi to take her to the airport. There, she takes her bag to check-in counter 56.

“You can bring this on the flight as cabin luggage, ma’am”, the attendant says politely, flashing her a professional smile.

“I’d just feel safer leaving it in your hands”, Irene answers with the prepared message. She leans forward slightly, pulls up her sunglasses to catch the attendant’s eyes. That’s not part of the code, she’s just in a good mood at a job well done. “You know how people throw things around up there”

The attendant nods and looks away nervously. Irene lets her sunglasses drop and walks off without a word, heading towards a nearby café where she’ll stay for a few hours before returning to the city. Her flight isn’t for another two days, after all.

(…)

She stops by her work apartment first. She wants to go home and think about Wendy for a bit, maybe reconsider whether or not to kill her, but she knows she’ll enjoy it so much more if she gets the boring work stuff out of the way first.

“Hello, Irene”, says the woman sitting on her sofa. As expected, Taeyeon has been waiting for her, probably since her flight landed.

Taeyeon is her handler. She’s in charge of briefing and debriefing and, in case of operatives like Irene, making sure nobody does anything crazy like go on a killing spree or expose the agency in some way. It’s an easy enough job in Irene’s case, which she’s sure Taeyeon appreciates.

She likes to think that they have fun together. A bantering duo, throwing quips back and forth and generally having a good time. When they started working together, she chose a name for Taeyeon. Eris, the goddess of strife. A kind of counterpart for Irene. The name never really caught on, though, and she found a better thing to call her anyway.

“Hello, Taeyeon from Jeonju” People are funny like that. All you have to do is mention some personal information that they didn’t think you’d know and they get all nervous and jittery. Or maybe it only works when you murder people for a living. And also for fun, on the side.

The woman on the sofa doesn’t move, but Irene is sure that her face is showing fear in the little ways that other people are usually good at noticing. She prefers the bigger expressions, the ones that mould the whole face. The little ones always elude her. It was much easier at first, especially the very first time, when Taeyeon shot up from where she’d been sitting and turned even paler than normal.

“We got the equipment two days ago”, Taeyeon remarks casually. “Did you enjoy your little vacation?”

“Yes”, Irene replies as she heads to the fridge. She doesn’t keep any food here, but there might be some beer. “The bread is very good there”

Taeyeon hums. “Do any sightseeing? Museums or something?”

Irene pulls out a beer, offers one to Taeyeon, who refuses with a shake of her head. “I walked down the main street one afternoon. Bought an ice cream”

“That’s nice”, Taeyeon says without inflection. “So, everything went well? Nobody saw you, no alarms raised, nothing we need to worry about?” She gives Irene a look, and she assumes it’s the one reminding her that it’s easier to come clean now than to wait for her employers to find out on their own.

Irene shrugs and takes a swig of her beer. “Nothing”, she replies tersely. Taeyeon looks at her for a moment, but she doesn’t elaborate. She’s not a child, she knows what she’s doing and she doesn’t need to be babied.

“Okay then. There’s something else I wanted to talk about”, Taeyeon adds after a pause. Perhaps Irene misunderstood Taeyeon’s look. She does have a tendency to understate her emotions, not that it ever bothers Irene. She’d probably ignore them even if they were clearer. The only one she really enjoys finding is fear, anyway.

She waits for Taeyeon to talk, not bothering to say anything. She’s not in the mood for chit-chat, wanting only to go home and take some time to herself.

“It’s about Wendy”, Taeyeon finally says. Anger bubbles up inside Irene and her hand closes with convulsive force, breaking the bottle she was holding. There’s a reason she’s been carefully circling the issue for days now and the sound of her name being spoken out loud brings Irene very close to giving into the homicidal rage boiling in her veins. Taeyeon jumps in her seat at the sight, which does help a little.

“What about her?”, Irene asks casually, but it’s the kind of casual that she uses when it’s very clear that she’s not feeling all that casual.

“Look, the agency was bound to find out, you must have known that”, Taeyeon replies quickly, stumbling to get her excuses out before Irene does anything about it. “And we’re not going to do anything about it, I promise. You can keep dating her as long as you like”

Irene finally resumes normal motion, opening a drawer to take out a pair of tweezers and start removing shards of glass from her hand. She takes her time with the task, letting Taeyeon get it all out before she responds. She’s not interested in sharing the latest development in that department, but the thought of Taeyeon learning of it from some other source and holding it over her makes Irene want to reach out and snap her neck. She really needs to go home and think things through, she can decide who to murder then.

“We’re just… Not sure why you’re doing it. Which is a little concerning with someone like you”, Taeyeon admits with a sigh. Irene brushes the palms of her hands together, searching for any glass she might have missed. Satisfied with the test, she turns to wash her hands in the sink. “So, if you don’t mind, maybe we could do an evaluation one of these days. See how everything’s doing up there”

Irene’s back is turned on Taeyeon, but she knows she’s pointing at her own head. “Later”, Irene growls without looking. A psychological evaluation is never a big chore, she has them done every once in a while, but right now the thought of answering personal questions makes her vision go red for just a second. She needs to settle this Wendy situation before she does anything else.

“Okay, okay, later then. I’ll leave you the number and you just call when you feel like it. In the meantime, you know the drill”, Taeyeon finishes and gets up to leave. Irene doesn’t bother moving from her spot by the sink. She does know the drill, no jobs until she’s cleared. It’s fine by her, she can find her own fun if she needs.

(…)

As soon as she arrives home, Irene picks up a vase and throws it against the wall. It shatters, porcelain flying in every direction, and Irene reaches for the largest shard. It’s very difficult, when she feels this rage begin to engulf her and she has nobody to cut into, so she holds onto the shard to hard that it begins to cut into the skin, until a small trickle of blood runs down her palm and drips onto the tiled floor.

She’s not usually the type to enjoy the cutting. Sure, it wouldn’t be a murder without someone dying, but what she really enjoys is the planning. Knowing that everything has been prepared perfectly and that she only has to follow the chain of events to reach the final conclusion of a fresh, waiting body in her surgical room is the best high she’s ever experienced. Everything works up to that point, even the killing itself is more like the final shudder of the delight that begins at that instant of blinding bliss.

Unfortunately, planning requires all her focus on the task at hand, so that she can’t do it to distract herself from wading through unhappy thoughts. Instead, she must go through it painfully conscious, fully aware. The most she can do is destroy, so she’ll have to settle for that.

Wendy. Her Wendy. She’s been very ill-mannered. She’s been stepping over lines she should know better than to cross. She’s taken advantage of Irene’s kindness, Irene’s patience, Irene’s willingness to make it work. She doesn’t even deserve such a special name, a name made just for her. Maybe she’s not Wendy at all.

Wendy is a name that precedes her Wendy. A name that Irene saw before it ever had a face attached to it. She’d just murdered a couple and she’d enjoyed seeing how they tried to protect each other, offered themselves to save the other, all kinds of silly things that obviously wouldn’t work because she was going to kill them both anyway, that was the whole point.

She knew it must be love, knew about the feeling even if she couldn’t imagine it herself. Still, following the couple around for the days before the attack, she got to see them going on dates, waking up together, meeting on their lunch hour just to sit in the park and chat. She might not feel love, but she could have done any of those things if she felt like it. She’d probably do it better than them, too. She was intelligent, educated, good-looking, wealthy, she really didn’t see how she wouldn’t make a wonderful date. A wonderful girlfriend, even.

After killing those two and disposing of the bodies, Irene spent days mulling it over. She’d stumbled upon something new, quite by accident, but now she was determined to follow through with it. Looking back, Irene blames her competitive streak. She just didn’t see how two random people with no particular skills or charms could be good at something and not her. So she’d be good at it.

That being settled, she needed to think about who she’d date. It had to be someone that could match her, or at least not lag behind too noticeably. Not a man, because she’d already had that particular experience and she didn’t feel like repeating it. A woman, beautiful, smart enough to hold a conversation, not too demanding, not too clingy. She’d be her little girlfriend, lucky her. And she’d have a nice homey name. Not something austere and beautiful, like a cathedral, like Irene. Something comfortable and pliant, like a flower, like Wendy.

Her particular Wendy was found entirely by accident. She’d been tracking her most recent victim through the city, her plan finally established as she identified the pattern of his visits to that neighbourhood. The rush of a coming kill made her feel like she was walking on air and there was a spring in her step as she walked to her car. Then she turned to the side just as a woman came her way and their eyes met for a second.

Used to quick encounters, Irene immediately scanned the woman in front of her. She was about her height, elegantly dressed if a little dishevelled, although not unacceptably so given it was the end of the day. Her face gave away nothing at all, not through any attempt by its owner but simply because faces never gave away much to Irene. Still, when their eyes met, Irene saw the way the woman looked deep into her, like she’d found something to mirror herself.

As she walked away, Irene went over the woman’s image in her mind. She was attractive, a little short but then again so was Irene. She must have been around Irene’s age and given where she lived and what she was wearing she must be reasonably wealthy.

She wondered if that was what people felt when they fell in love. That they’d chosen their partner, not because of a careful weighting of predetermined factors in order to maximize eligibility or compatibility, but because of something unique and unexpected. A spark that they hadn’t found anywhere else.

She spent months thinking and planning it out, giddy like she hadn’t been since her very first murders as Irene. It was something brand new and exciting and she couldn’t wait to put her plan into motion. And then she finally did, and everything worked out perfectly. Wendy agreed to go on a date right away, then another and another and at some point, Irene assumed they were more or less officially dating.

Irene pulls away from her thoughts to find half of her dishes smashed on the kitchen floor, so that every step she takes makes a crunching sound. It enrages her to think of her happy, innocent days, when she was so excited about her relationship, so convinced that she was doing well. Does Wendy know what she’s taken from her? Does she even care that these happy memories are now tainted by her vicious lies?

She was so sure that everything was going fine. Wendy seemed perfectly satisfied in bed and reasonably talkative on their encounters. She never voiced any complaints and if her face showed anything negative, then it was too subdued for Irene to pick up, which surely must mean it wasn’t very intense. Irene paid for things, she talked about her interests but only when the topic had already been introduced, she asked about Wendy’s job, she did all the things that supposedly made her a good girlfriend. Not to mention all the obvious things she had to offer, like her attractive body and face, her excellent taste in clothing and all her money, which she spent generously.

She even overlooked Wendy’s little idiosyncrasies, like her strange fondness of cooking when she could just pay people to bring her better meals faster than she could make them. And she was careful to keep her homicidal tendencies to herself. She only ever mentioned it in the bedroom, when she whispered in Wendy’s ear, making sure to do it in languages she knew she wouldn’t understand.

She was the perfect girlfriend, so why did Wendy have to go and disappoint her like that?

She stops halfway through stepping on another glass, then lets her foot drop because she’s going to be buying a new set anyway, so she might as well make the most of this one. But then she pauses her destructive rampage, because she’s just made a breakthrough. She was the perfect girlfriend, that much is clear. And Wendy is the one who disappointed her, that’s true as well.

But then doesn’t that mean that Wendy is the problem here? Irene did nothing wrong, except possibly pick a little hastily. Wendy is the one who ruined everything, and what else could Irene have expected? People are, in their essence, disappointing. One can’t expect to pick one out at random and find a diamond in the rough. It’s Wendy’s fault that the relationship ended, so why does it matter how exactly it ended? If Wendy had disappointed Irene in any other way, Irene would have been the one to end things and they’d be in the exact same place.

That’s good, it’s enough to at least assuage Irene’s competitive streak. She’s a little embarrassed that she didn’t consider how hard it would be to be a perfect girlfriend without another perfect person to match her, but sometimes we have to make a mistake so we can learn from it.

That just leaves the little issue of how Wendy broke Irene’s trust and disappointed her. She should be punished for that, but if Irene kills her then she’ll be the one getting punished. She’ll need to move, start a new life somewhere else, map out a whole new city and its useful little corners, all kinds of trouble that doesn’t sound appealing at all. No, killing her won’t do at all.

Besides, Irene wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Wendy doesn’t understand that she should be worshipping her. She doesn’t understand that Irene is the best thing that ever happened to her. No, she doesn’t deserve Irene’s tender touch as she cuts through skin and fat and muscle and bone, straight down to her cold, black heart. What Wendy really deserves is to never see Irene again.

The kitchen is bathed in weak light and Irene realizes that dawn has come. She steps out of the kitchen and makes her way upstairs, to her bedroom. She’ll sleep on it and in the morning she’ll call the number Taeyeon gave her. She’s made peace with Wendy’s mistake. She smiles, pleased with her quick recovery. Sometimes, all it takes is to get it all out of her system.

(…)

Months pass quickly. She has a few jobs, but she spends most of her time at home, catching up on scientific journals, refreshing languages that are getting rusty, reading some polarizing new works on herpetology.

They’re slow months, all the excitement of her dating experiment leaving her sluggish in the aftermath. She doesn’t kill a single person that her employers haven’t ordered her to kill and eventually she realizes that she needs to get out there before she becomes some boring person that does nothing but stay home and read all day.

She strolls aimlessly up and down the city, eyes open for anyone who catches her interest. There’s a technique to it. She can’t look too carefully, too probingly. Instead, she has to let her eyes wander aimlessly, registering the bodies around her but never allowing her gaze to fall directly on them. Eventually, like a tiny bit of glass that reflects the light at just the right angle, she’ll find someone that has been there all along, hidden in plain sight, and she’ll know that this is the one.

It takes less than a day for her to find him. It’s exhilarating to glance his way, quickly enough not to be noticed, and know that this is the face of the man she’ll kill. She hurries along, stepping out of view, then begins to tail him.

The usual game begins then, her following the man’s every step without drawing attention to herself, noting his place of work, his loved ones, where he goes and at what time, separating between what is habit and what is a one-time thing.

It takes a little longer than usual, but she finally has him. She takes her for-fun car, the one with the tinted windows, and drives along his lunch route, waiting for him to exit the usual place on his own and walk a block down to an abandoned lot where he always spends 15 minutes smoking a secret cigarette.

He walks out with a colleague and they both head straight back to work. He throws a longing glance down the road, echoing Irene’s frustration at least partly. Irene herself clenches her jaw tightly and grabs the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white. After a moment to compose herself, she drives away.

She circles the city aimlessly for about an hour, fuming at the injustice of it all. She wore such a pretty outfit and everything. All going to waste now, as she’ll have to turn around and go home empty-handed.

She stops at a red light and taps her fingers on the steering wheel as she waits. Next to her, some loser in a shitty bike starts revving their engine. She turns to the side, just about ready to roll down her window and flip them off, and she sees the passenger hugging the loser tightly for support. It’s Wendy.

Everything goes red for a second, just as the light turns green and the bike speeds off ahead of her. Irene recovers in an instant, pushing down on the accelerator to quickly come up to the pair. She resists the urge to slam the car into the back of the bike and send the two flying off.

She’s had a bad day and this could just be something that makes it worse, but that’s not Irene’s style. This is going to be her pick-me-up. Wendy is going to come to her and she’s going to laugh in her face and give her a taste of her own medicine. Wendy is the one at fault here, but she doesn’t know that. She needs to know how disappointed Irene is. She needs to know that she’s made a mistake. Thankfully, Irene knows just how to do that.


	2. Climax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the conclusion, hope you enjoy it! Thanks to everyone who read, commented and left kudos. Especially thank you for the wonderful comments. I updated the story tags, so please check them before reading

They’re back in Seungwan’s home in half the time it usually takes to drive that far. Seungwan’s hand is painfully stiff from clinging to her seat as Irene flies down thankfully empty roads. After arriving in one piece, however, the reckless driving is quickly driven from her mind as Irene tugs off her coat halfway into the apartment, hands clenching the collar of Seungwan’s blouse for a moment before running down the row of buttons, moving back up and tugging hard. The blouse splits open, buttons jumping in all directions, and Seungwan registers the event without a trace of dismay.

They land on the bed, Irene on top of her, and Seungwan doesn’t even have time to make eye contact because Irene’s mouth is already on her neck. She doesn’t kiss or even suck, but simply bites down, hard enough that Seungwan fears she might break the skin. It’s not entirely unpleasant, though, and Seungwan arches up in response. Her arms are by her side, pinned to the bed, and Irene takes this time to pull them up above Seungwan’s head so that she can keep them there with her right hand.

Irene’s free hand moves down to Seungwan’s shoulder, scratching its way down between her breasts and over her stomach. Her nails, although perfectly manicured, have grown a little long, and Seungwan can feel the red welts that are left behind, even if she can’t see them with her head tilted up to allow better access to her neck. The hand moves back up to pull Seungwan’s bra out of the way, then latches onto her breast and pinches her nipple painfully. Seungwan hisses in response, but Irene doesn’t loosen her hold at all.

Seungwan squirms under Irene’s rough touches, but as she bites down harder and a moan leaves Seungwan’s mouth unbidden, she realizes that she’s not at all uncomfortable with the situation. She feels Irene’s lips curl into a smile before she shifts slightly to bite somewhere else and she can’t help but wonder, with what little brainpower she has available, what happened to cause this change.

If this really is just jealousy, possessiveness, then why was Irene so passive when they ended things? Did something happen in the months since they last saw each other? Or did Irene see the way Seulgi acted and figured Seungwan would prefer someone a little more aggressive? Is she doing this for Seungwan’s benefit? God, she hopes not. That would just be sad.

She tries to free her arms, not quite sure why. The thought that this is all an act makes something deflate inside her, an instant turn-off, and she finds no reason to uphold the usual obedience that Irene requests in the bedroom.

In an instant, the pressure on her wrists is doubled as Irene pulls away from her neck with a growl. Seungwan follows the movement, the way a line of saliva trails from her mouth before her left hand comes up to wipe it away.

“What do you think you’re doing?”, Irene asks in a low, dangerous voice. Seungwan shivers, not at the question but at the way Irene’s eyes capture hers, looking nothing like before. The spark is there, stronger than it’s ever been, and one glimpse of it is enough to silence all doubts of Irene’s sincerity. Seungwan swallows thickly, lets her arms go limp.

“Nothing”, she mumbles weakly. Her heart beats loudly against her chest and suddenly it’s unbearable how little she’s being touched by Irene. She needs her attention back on her body, but she doesn’t know how to achieve that. “I’m sorry”, she tries, flushing at the humiliating words that only manage to turn her on further.

Irene doesn’t smile, but she seems appeased. Her hand lowers to Seungwan’s breast and grabs it roughly, nails digging into the soft skin. Seungwan’s instinct is to arch into the touch, but she remains motionless, excitement only betrayed by a slight trembling that she can’t contain. “You should be”, Irene says simply, and Seungwan is quick to nod in agreement. “You have a lot to apologize for”

She leans down for a kiss, gentle pressure forming a strange contrast to the nail-shaped indents she’s leaving in the skin of Seungwan’s breast. Seungwan’s lips part at once and Irene’s tongue invades her mouth, coaxing her to return the kiss. As soon as she does, her own tongue is caught between Irene’s teeth. They bite down until she can taste the familiar metallic tang of her own blood. The hand on her breast focuses its attention on her nipple and she lets out a strangled whimper. Her body struggles to move, chase the stimuli, but she keeps it still, even if the trembling intensifies.

She’s still mostly dressed, remains of her ruined bloused hanging from her shoulders, bra pulled down slightly so that it wraps around the bottom of her ribcage. Above her, Irene is fully clothed, down to the bulky purple coat. Her hair, smelling strongly of whatever products she uses to keep it so shiny and perfectly shaped, cascades down to frame Seungwan’s face. A few strands tickle her cheek, but she barely notices when so many other things demand her attention.

Irene finally releases Seungwan’s tongue, only to latch onto her bottom lip and pull. At the same time, her leg moves up to press against Seungwan’s crotch, causing a jolt to run through her entire body. It feels like a test or a trap of some sort, so Seungwan forces herself not to react, at least not visibly. Her entire body screams for relief, her senses blurring to focus entirely on the pressure between her legs, and she clenches her muscles with the effort to resist.

It’s only when Irene begins to rock above her, leg shifting up and down against her crotch, that she’s no longer able to refrain from following along with the movement. She grinds against Irene, waves of pleasure flowing through her body, though hardly enough to satisfy her needy throbbing. She lets out a long, drawn-out sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, feeling herself grow wetter at the contact.

Her lower lip is sore when Irene finally pulls away. She runs her tongue over indentations that mark out clearly each of Irene’s upper teeth, soothing the ache or perhaps prodding it further. Finally, she notices that Irene is motionless above her, even her hand on Seungwan’s nipple has stilled. She opens eyes which she’s squeezed shut sometime before to find the woman above watching her with a tilted head.

“I forgot!”, Irene declares in exaggerated surprise, eyes wide and mouth drawing a perfect circle as her left hand comes up so her index finger rests on her bottom lip. “You broke up with me, didn’t you?”, she adds slowly. Her eyes return to their normal size as she studies Seungwan, looking unamused. Then she rolls over on her back and pushes herself off the bed.

Seungwan can’t even react. She doesn’t even pull her arms down as she watches Irene pat down her leather pants in a completely unnecessary gesture, then turn away from the bed and walk towards the door. Her entire body seems to be malfunctioning, so that none of her muscles obey her as she frantically attempts to get up and do something.

“Wait!”, she finally manages to call out. She sees the way Irene’s shoulders rise as she snorts but doesn’t pause. Pushing herself to a sitting position, she tries again. “Irene, please, I don’t – I need – Please” Her brain is too muddled for her to express what she needs, but that much must be obvious enough.

Irene pauses and everything inside Seungwan rejoices. When she turns around, her expression is completely inscrutable. “You’d beg?”, she asks, and Seungwan can’t tell whether her tone conveys pleasure or derision.

“If that’s what it takes”, she answers honestly. Maybe that’s the right answer, because suddenly Irene is crossing the distance between them with long strides, pouncing on her with fiery eyes so that Seungwan lands on her back again. Her hand lands on Seungwan’s throat, though it doesn’t seem entirely intentional. Irene leans down, lips brushing against Seungwan’s ear.

“So what did it?”, she growls in a low voice that has Seungwan pushing her legs together tightly for want of friction. “Did it turn you on when I put your little girlfriend in her place?” Seungwan shivers as her hot breath hits sensitive skin, doesn’t trust herself to answer, doesn’t even know if she’s supposed to.

“Or was it the danger?”, Irene continues, and now there’s a seductive hint to her menacing whisper, or maybe it just sounds that way because of where this is headed. Because of what the thought does to Seungwan. The hand on her throat tightens its hold and Seungwan feels her heart beat against cold fingers. “Did you like the speed, the lack of control, the thought that your life was in someone else’s hands?”

She seems ready to keep talking, but she stops as Seungwan swallows nervously, seeming to finally notice her fingers tightening around Seungwan’s neck. Her hand goes limp and she pulls away, even though Seungwan is nodding eagerly at her words. There’s a small smile on her lips, then it’s gone.

“You’ll stop seeing that ridiculous girl with the shitty bike”, she commands. Seungwan nods again. Then Irene pulls back, fixes her hair and looks down at a confused Seungwan. She seems to come to a decision. “Alright, I’ll consider giving you another chance. I’ll get back to you when I’ve thought about it”

She seems set on leaving her like this, panting and shirtless on her bed. Seungwan watches her walk off, brings a hand to her throat to chase the ghost of slender fingers pushing down harder and harder. “Was it the begging?”, she asks after a moment, her voice raised to reach Irene, who is already out of the bedroom.

“No, I liked it”, Irene answers appreciatively. “You just have to be punished”, she explains like it’s a self-evident truth, a fact beyond her control. Seungwan accepts the woman’s logic with a shrug.

This time, she doesn’t get up right away to check the lock. Instead, as she hears Irene shut the door and walk away, she quickly unbuttons her own pants, kicking them off as her right hand moves down inside her underwear. She touches herself, arousal growing quickly after so much stimulation. Her left hand, still on her throat, seems to move of its own accord to mimic Irene’s actions, tightening as she comes closer and closer.

She closes her eyes to picture Irene on top of her, eyes burning with that chaotic spark that sends shivers up and down Seungwan’s spine, fingers pumping into Seungwan as her hand squeezes the breath out of her, squeezes the life out of her, smile growing while Seungwan’s vision blurs, darkens, fades to black.

(…)

Seungwan doesn’t see Irene again for a month. She disappears entirely, making no contact except for the occasional extremely explicit text, usually sent when Seungwan is at work and resulting in a sharp decline in productivity as her mind becomes fuzzy and uncooperative.

The first time it happens, she replies quickly, asking whether it means that Irene has finished thinking about it. There’s no response. The second time it happens, she takes her time crafting a message that is similarly explicit, hoping for some kind of back and forth. Again, there’s no response. The third time it happens, she doesn’t bother answering at all and simply excuses herself to the bathroom on trembling legs.

Finally, after a month, Irene’s shiny Mercedes is parked outside her work when she leaves. She fucks her right there on the backseat and Seungwan has never been more glad for the tinted windows. Afterwards, sweaty and breathless, she hangs on as well as she can while Irene drives them back to her apartment in record time. Her own car is still at work, but the thought doesn’t bother her for long. She’ll just take a taxi or something.

This time, Irene is in a short dress and fishnets. Seungwan is a little glad for the change, because it’s much easier to push up a dress than it is to find any space to manoeuvre inside leather pants. And Irene certainly wants her to manoeuvre. As soon as they step into the apartment, she grabs Seungwan’s hands and guides them inside her stockings.

Leaning against the wall with Seungwan rubbing her clit, Irene’s voice is unexpectedly steady, if a little short of breath. “I’ve thought about it”, she gasps out. Seungwan can’t quite make eye contact with her face buried in Irene’s neck, so she only hums to indicate that she’s listening. “I need to test whether you’re worth my time”

Seungwan pulls back slightly, careful not to stop her hand’s movements. “How?”, she asks cautiously. Irene pushes her away and Seungwan fears that she’s said the wrong thing, but Irene only takes advantage of the space created to pull her dress up and over her head. Her hair becomes slightly mussed by the action, but Seungwan has no time to dwell on it before her head is being roughly pulled towards Irene braless breast.

“Don’t ask stupid questions”, Irene snaps with displeasure and Seungwan complies easily, eager to put her mouth to better use.

The rest of their time together is spent in silence, aside from Irene’s gasps and the wet sounds of Seungwan moving against her. Irene comes without a sound, only a sudden clenching and a sharp intake of breath as she clings to Seungwan’s shoulders for support, nails digging into the skin through the fabric of her blouse. Then she pushes her off, nodding towards her discarded dress. Seungwan picks it up quickly and Irene slips it on.

She makes her way out of the apartment without hesitation. She only pauses to fix her eyes on Seungwan with steely resolve. “Don’t disappoint me again”, she commands with finality, and Seungwan can’t supress a shiver. Suddenly, she wishes Irene wouldn’t leave so soon. She feels more than ready for a second round. “For your own good”, Irene adds with a raised eyebrow, then she turns around and leaves.

(…)

The new Irene is nothing like the old one, to the point where the two personas aren’t possibly compatible. It’s clear enough that the old version, the one that took Seungwan to fancy restaurants and listened to her talk about her job, is the one that Irene fabricated, for a reason that Seungwan can’t quite figure out. It’s not like they talk about that, or anything related to their relationship.

The new Irene is much less considerate. She shows up when she wants, picks Seungwan up and takes her wherever she feels like going. Sometimes they end up at crowded clubs, with loud music that makes her entire body vibrate in time with the beat and lights that flash, change colour and generally dazzle a person until they’re no longer able to tell them where they came from and where they’re going.

Irene always goes in provocative outfits, brings a spare for Seungwan to change into in the car. Wouldn’t want to be embarrassed by showing up with a frumpy woman in her work attire of blouse and pencil skirt. This time, she’s dressed in what looks very much like a school uniform. Black tie over a white shirt that has been tied up to reveal a slice of midriff and a checked mini-skirt with stockings. To wrap up the look, she’s wearing high-heeled boots. It’s just far enough removed from an ordinary schoolgirl outfit to make it clear that it’s supposed to be a sexy imitation, and Seungwan has to admit that it works.

She finds with horror that the outfit that Irene selected for her is in the same vein and has no choice but to wear it, an experience that is halfway between degrading and exciting. Just the way she likes it. When they arrive, Irene ties the knot on her tie, pulls it a little tighter than is entirely comfortable with a smirk that seems to tell Seungwan that she knows how she felt that afternoon at her apartment, when her hand wrapped tightly around her throat. It has her squirming under Irene’s touch, almost disappointed when she loosens it again because tying it properly makes Seungwan look too much like a proper little schoolgirl and that won’t do.

They get in right away. All it takes is a sweet smile from Irene as she twirls a strand of hair over her finger for the bouncer to usher them in with a patronizing smile and an unpleasant leer. Inside, they make their way to the bar, where they are almost immediately approached by two men who insist on buying them drinks. They’re attractive enough, since those are the only ones brave enough to interact with someone like Irene. Seungwan already knows where this is going, so she lets herself be chatted up by one of them, even lets him run his hand up her leg as she bats her eyelashes and sips at her brightly coloured cocktail through an elaborate straw.

The other man isn’t quite as lucky, but that’s his fault for picking Irene. She giggles and flirts, but whenever he tries to lay a hand on her she pulls it off with a gesture that manages to be both appeasing and incontestable. Every once in a while, she glances at Seungwan, appraises the situation with dark eyes. It’s their usual game: Seungwan strays and Irene watches until her possessive streak surfaces. Then Seungwan gets punished.

Irene trips over nothing, falls gracelessly into her partner. Somehow, she manages to knee him in the crotch in the process and the mirth is clear in her eyes even as she blurts out apologies. The man’s friend pulls his attention away from Seungwan, his hand still on her waist from when he was speaking into her ear, and bursts into laughter as he catches sight of what happened. Irene quickly excuses herself and pulls Seungwan to the bathroom.

The music in there is just as loud and it seems to echo against the tiled walls. Everything is black and the light is a strange purple, bathing everything with a tint of unreality. Seungwan relishes Irene’s tight grip on her wrist, even if she doesn’t dare to rebel in the hopes of it tightening. Irene doesn’t take kindly to her acting out.

Usually, Irene takes her into a stall and turns her against the wall, leans in close to whisper in her ear, as much a necessity from the volume of the music as it is an essential part of the performance. She brings a hand around Seungwan’s waist, presses it against her crotch over her clothes, asks if she’d rather have that man’s cock rubbing against her. Seungwan denies it, lips parted in pleasure and anticipation. Irene hums, muses in a low voice that maybe she should mark her. That maybe the only way to keep her little whore Wendy away from those men is to make sure Irene is branded all over her. Seungwan nods, trembles, Irene bites into her neck and sucks until Seungwan is sure she’s left a large, angry bruise across the delicate skin.

She could go on, fuelled in equal parts by imagination and experience, but this time Irene doesn’t pull her into any of the free cubicles. Instead, she leads a confused and somewhat disappointed Seungwan to one of the sinks and looks into the mirror as she fixes her hair and checks her makeup. Seungwan wonders if she’s broken an unspoken rule. Did she flirt too much? Too little?

Irene interrupts her thought process by pulling a small bag out of her cleavage and holding it out for Seungwan to study with a crooked smile. It contains a white powder that isn’t too hard to identify even if Seungwan has never seen it in person before and her eyes widen as she realizes what Irene is suggesting.

“I found it in that idiot’s pocket”, Irene says disdainfully. To be honest, Seungwan would rather have sex than do cocaine, but the look in Irene’s eyes makes it hard to say no. They glisten with a vague threat that Seungwan doesn’t want to solidify into anything concrete. Or maybe she does. She’s not quite sure sometimes.

She nods and Irene dumps the powder on the marble counter, pulls a card out of her wallet to divide it into clean lines and rolls up a bill to snort it. It looks just like in the movies and the slight apprehension that grips Seungwan with every step only serves to heighten her excitement, blood pumping rapidly as she watches Irene’s hands go through the motions without hesitation.

Irene makes her go first and she tries her best not to look like an idiot as she snorts the cocaine, the sensation foreign and not very comfortable. She blinks rapidly, trying to sniff away the strange feeling in her nose as Irene leans in to do a dose. She finally gives up and brings up a hand to rub against her nostrils, coming away with a little bit of white that she brushes against her shirt.

She has no idea how long it takes for cocaine to kick in. She watches Irene for any hint of what comes next, but she only offers her a predatory smile before reaching for her arm and pulling her out of the bathroom. Seungwan follows with a single longing glance at the stalls and forlorn thoughts of what they could be doing there.

They end up on the dancefloor, where Irene grinds against her and Seungwan follows her lead eagerly enough. Their actions catch the attention of some people around them, but the dancefloor is too tightly packed and the music is too upbeat, so that dancing bodies twist and turn in every direction and it’s impossible for any two people to meet unless both are seriously invested in the task.

At some point, it hits her. It’s hard to pinpoint when, but suddenly everything feels so much more vivid than before. The lights are brighter, almost blinding, and it only takes a glance at Irene’s dilated pupils to understand why. Every touch feels like fire against her skin and her heart beats powerfully in her chest. She feels invincible, like she could run a marathon or beat down the next person who touches her without her permission. But she doesn’t really mind the touching anymore. She wants it, wants it everywhere, wants more.

She wants to drag Irene back to that bathroom. Now. Even in her emboldened state, she still retains some of the instincts Irene has drilled into her, and that is what keeps her from following through on that thought. Instead, she settles for letting her hands roam up and down the body that’s pressed against her so invitingly. She feels the skin between Irene’s shirt and her skirt, brings her fingers up under the fabric to grope her breasts as she pushes herself even closer. She doesn’t care that people are watching, the thought only makes everything more thrilling. Irene doesn’t seem displeased, simply smirking as she lets Seungwan continue her exploration. Maybe wondering how far she’ll go.

A man bumps into them, hand landing on Seungwan’s ass. She barely glances at him, racing mind trying to decide whether she should slide her hand under the waistband of Irene’s skirt, more out of fear of a negative reaction from the woman herself than any consideration for their audience. Irene, on the other hand, spins on her heel in one fluid motion and lands an elbow on his face. He brings his hands up with a yell that can’t be heard over the music. Seungwan watches his face contort into a grimace of pain, mouth opening comically, and she is filled with fascination at the sight of bright red blood pouring between his fingers, clearly originating from whatever Irene has done to his nose. Then she’s pulled through the crowd by Irene’s firm grip and they end up outside the club, gasping at the cold air suddenly hitting their overheated skin.

They turn the corner and Seungwan finally realizes where they are as she sees Irene’s car across the street. Are they going home? Is this the end of their night? She still feels excitement buzz against every inch of her skin, can’t even imagine going somewhere dark and dreary like her apartment. She wants lights, people, loud music thumping against her ribcage. She wants hands all over her.

Irene pushes her against the car. Seungwan knows that the back of her head has hit the vehicle with some force, is aware that it should hurt, but even though she can feel everything, the pain seems to get lost somewhere on the way to her brain. Irene comes closer and pushes her leg between Seungwan’s, locking her in place. Then, reaching under Seungwan’s shirt with one hand, she brings up the other to caress her chin. To run her fingers down her throat, letting her nails scratch along its length. Seungwan swallows drily and Irene follows the motion with an attention that has Seungwan’s stomach doing flips.

She leans in close to Seungwan’s ear. “You liked it”, she states, no trace of question in her voice. There are so many things she could be talking about, but the way her hand hovers over Seungwan’s throat then begins to close in makes her meaning clear enough. Seungwan nods eagerly and Irene smirks. She seems pleased at that, which is enough to make arousal build inside Seungwan. Her hand suddenly tightens and Seungwan jolts, eyes rolling back in their sockets.

Irene’s free hand is still roaming along the skin of Seungwan’s stomach, sometimes pushing all the way up to the underside of her bra or down to slip a finger or two under the waistband of her skirt. Since she doesn’t seem interested in easing the pressure building between Seungwan’s legs, Seungwan resorts to grinding on the helpfully placed leg. She brings her arms around Irene, grabbing her ass to pull her closer. For once, this independent thinking isn’t punished, possibly because Irene is distracted by something more interesting.

Grabbing Seungwan’s breast over her bra, Irene bites her earlobe hard then releases it with a chuckle. “What else did you like?”, she asks in a sultry tone. Seungwan knows enough by now to understand that this is a rhetorical question, so she simply moans in response. “Did you like the blood? Did you like the way his face twisted in pain?” The words don’t paint a very seductive image, but Seungwan feels herself grow wet nonetheless. She moans again, a little breathless from exertion and from Irene’s tight grip on her neck. She grinds faster, a whine of frustration rising in her throat but not quite escaping her lips.

Irene continues to speak, but she’s switched to some language that Seungwan can’t understand. Her voice is low and measured, although it hitches at points, possibly when she gets carried away with whatever it is she’s depicting in Seungwan’s ear. Even if she doesn’t know what is being said, Irene’s tone is enough to get Seungwan more and more worked up. She grinds faster, pulls Irene in with clenching hands. Her head is throbbing now, her breaths shallow as Irene’s hand doesn’t allow for more. Tears spring to the corner of her eyes and still Irene doesn’t let go. Seungwan doesn’t want her to.

Irene’s hand finally slips in between Seungwan’s legs, finding her more than eager. She shudders at the touch, arches as Irene’s expert hand wastes no time in touching her where she needs it most. She feels light-headed, gasping in time with Irene’s motions, and her vision goes completely black as she comes with whatever distorted sound her strangled throat allows. It’s only Irene’s pressure against her that stops her from sliding down the car as her body suddenly stops responding.

When Irene removes her hand, she breaks into a fit of coughing, nearly blacking out again. She’s held in place by an unperturbed Irene, who only waits for her to recover her breath before turning them around, leaning against the car and pushing Seungwan down on her knees. It’s not the smoothest transition, as Seungwan has to pull off Irene’s stockings so she can bring one of her legs over her shoulder to gain access to where Irene clearly wants her, but her companion is patient enough.

She eats Irene out to the best of her abilities, ignoring the soreness in her throat and the sharp edges of the uneven pavement digging into her poorly protected knees. It doesn’t take too long for her to come and then she’s pulling her leg down from Seungwan’s shoulder unceremoniously and grabbing her discarded clothing to get in the car. Seungwan takes the hint and gets up, brushing herself off before heading to the passenger’s seat. Her high is beginning to wear off and exhaustion falls over her like a warm blanket. Even Irene’s reckless driving isn’t enough to shake her awake and she arrives at her apartment shaky with fatigue, slightly nauseous and vainly trying to rub away the pain in her throat.

The next morning, she goes to work as usual, a light scarf draped around a neck where Irene’s hand has been branded in purplish blue. Still feeling ill and exhausted, she pores over legal documents carefully, holding a headache at bay with generous amounts of coffee.

That’s when she realizes how important it is. Her work, her routine, her carefully planned life. She’s found the chaos she was looking for and she loves it, loves every minute of it, every bruise and shock and unexpected turn. Every thrill, every unknown rule that she probes carefully, every mistake that is punished. But just like the careful teasing and foreplay that leads her to the edge of madness before she can be granted her release, the order is essential to balance the chaos. Without the denial, the pleasure would be meaningless.

So she stays at work until dinner time, savouring every minute of it. Every day that passes until she sees Irene again can only serve to make their next meeting all the sweeter.

(…)

Their night at the club marks a turning point in their relationship. Seungwan suspects that it was part of the test Irene mentioned, and that she managed to pass it, because she doubts Irene would still be around otherwise.

And she is around. A lot more than before. They actually go on dates, normal dates like they used to have, to restaurants or museums or art galleries. It’s like they’re normal girlfriends in a normal relationship, except for those wild nights, which become less frequent but don’t stop completely.

And yet, Seungwan can’t say that they’ve gone back to the way things were. Irene doesn’t change at all, the possessiveness and domineering behaviour only finding new ways to manifest themselves. As Irene takes a greater interest in Seungwan’s personal life, her influence becomes evident in every aspect of it. She takes charge of Seungwan’s wardrobe, approving or rejecting everything inside and complementing it with her own purchases. She manages Seungwan’s diet and makes her attend a gym at least twice a week. Even Seungwan’s interests are scrutinized, with the result that her weekends of baking come to an end in favour of hobbies that Irene approves.

She’s aware that this is not how relationships should work. She knows what an abusive relationship looks like. But she just can’t bring herself to feel alarmed, to want to break it off, to reach out. First of all, because who would she even reach out to? Irene has her work cut out for her there, since Seungwan doesn’t even have any friends from whom to be isolated. But most importantly, this is the happiest she’s ever been. She’s never been so satisfied with a relationship.

Who cares if Irene manages everything in her life? It’s just another kind of control to bring the chaos into even starker relief. And it’s all the more delicious to know that they both coexist within her girlfriend. Irene sets the rules and enforces them strictly, able to command perfect obedience with nothing but well-chosen words and the look on her face, yet her wild side shines through in everything she does. She’s a storm, blowing through Seungwan’s life and uprooting every structure she’s created, pulling her along irresistibly. She never knew how much she wanted it.

It’s amazing how those two sides of Irene are so perfectly balanced. In her, what are considered to be warring opposites seem to find a unique harmony where both maintain their identity. She’s not order disrupted by chaos or chaos quelled by order. She’s both, expressed to their fullest extent. She’s unlike anyone else. She’s transcendent.

“Faster”, Irene says drily. She makes no effort to sound commanding, she doesn’t have to. Even when the word comes out like she’s commenting on the weather, the implication is evident. It’s not the tone of her voice that carries the clean threat, the danger that would come of displeasing her. It’s all of her, ingrained in her posture and her easy movements, in the glint of her eyes and the set of her face.

Seungwan complies without hesitation, pushing down on the accelerator until Irene seems satisfied. Her eyes fall shut for a moment as the hand in her pants starts moving again, but they quickly snap open again. She can’t afford to stop looking at the road for long, especially at the speed the car is going. Irene’s hand moves against her slowly, teasingly, sliding up and down to spread the growing wetness.

It’s hard for Seungwan to focus on the sensation, with so many things requiring her attention. As she drives, Irene calls out directions, letting her know when to turn left or right or which exit to take on the roundabout. She doesn’t give any more commands regarding speed, at least not verbally. Instead, it’s her hand that controls that part, going still when the car is too slow and moving faster in appreciation when Seungwan’s foot presses down until the buildings and other cars are flying past them.

It’s not the smoothest ride, only made more complicated by the fact that it’s her first time driving Irene’s Mercedes. But when she showed up at her apartment, threw Seungwan the keys and walked out, refusing the offer or even questioning it didn’t really cross her mind. She doesn’t even know where they’re going, or whether they’re going anywhere at all. Maybe Irene just wants her to drive around while she teases her into an increasingly distracted state, test the limits of her concentration. She’s in the car too, so she’ll probably take over before Seungwan drives them into a wall or off a cliff.

Irene’s fingers move up and electricity seems to shoot up and down Seungwan’s body at the touch. She jolts in her seat, her foot pushing down then releasing the accelerator entirely, so that the car lurches forward then begins to slow down. The hand stills instantly, fingers resting on Seungwan’s clit maddeningly. She takes a deep breath and recovers control of the vehicle, speeding up again and letting out a shaky sigh at Irene’s positive response.

The ride continues as they leave the city centre and start driving through quieter streets, high-rise buildings gradually replaced by houses and community spaces. Irene’s irregular motions, broken off and picked up again as the car moves unevenly forward, have Seungwan convulsively clenching every muscle in her body, knuckles white over the steering wheel and legs almost shaking with the effort of maintaining the controlled movements required in driving. She begins to consider pressing down on the accelerator as hard as she can and hoping that the matching increase in the speed of Irene’s movements is enough to get her off before she flies up a driveway and straight through somebody’s house.

Irene must have guessed her intentions because the next time Seungwan’s foot slams down convulsively on the pedal her movements still yet again, signalling a change in rules so that Seungwan must drive fast enough but not too fast. Seungwan toes the line as well as she can, but the closer she comes the more demanding Irene is and the more their speed oscillates, as Seungwan’s limbs become unresponsive and move only in jerky bursts.

The car zigzags down a thankfully empty street, swaying from lane to lane unsteadily while Seungwan’s shaky hands do their best to keep them from sliding off the road entirely. For a moment, she sacrifices her focus on steering to keep their pace steady, to keep Irene’s pace steady. She screws her eyes shut as it hits her, back arching off the car seat and any thoughts of driving temporarily banished from her mind while the waves of pleasure radiate off her center and all through her body.

As soon as she comes down from her high, she opens her eyes desperately, fully expecting to find them inches away from disaster. Instead, she sees Irene’s right hand on the steering wheel, even as her left hasn’t stopped moving against Seungwan. She corrects their route, all she can do since the pedals are still up to Seungwan. Once Seungwan stops trembling against her, she pulls both hands back, returning control of the car to the designated driver.

“Turn left”, she indicates, carelessly licking her fingers clean. Seungwan complies, beginning to realize that they’ve been driving in circles for a while now. As they tread the same path yet again, she understands why. “Now park here”, Irene commands, gesturing towards a nearby driveway.

It’s Irene’s house. She’s never been here before and she wonders whether she’s passed another test without even realizing it. Maybe the house is the test.

Either way, it’s an impressive place. It’s a large, two-storied building built in a classical style that contrasts with Seungwan’s comparatively small but modern apartment. They’re parked in front of a two-car garage, the way to the front door given by a gravel path that stretches across the front lawn and ends at the bottom of a few steps flanked by two columns. They step inside the house and into a large tiled entrance hall with an elegant stairway at the back. There are stately doors on either side, but they’re closed, so Seungwan has no idea what is behind them, although she assumes there will be a living room, dining room and kitchen somewhere in the ground floor. She lets her eyes sweep the hall, noting the decorations.

“See, Wendy? This is what a house should look like”, Irene says in a patronizing tone, like she’s gently admonishing a child. “Spacious and elegant, not cramped and underfurnished” She widens her arms in a sweeping motion that encapsulates the space around them, then turns to Seungwan with a quirked eyebrow. She tilts her head towards the stairway, waiting for Seungwan to start walking to trail behind her.

The upstairs is given the same unceremonious treatment, with most of the house remaining unexplored as Irene guides Seungwan straight to one of the bedrooms, leading her to the bed as soon as she walks inside. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Seungwan observes as much as she can of the room before Irene blocks her field of vision entirely.

Hardwood floor, high ceiling, a lavishly patterned carpet at the foot of the bed. A pair of glass doors lead to a small balcony that looks over the back garden. The railing makes it hard to see any of it from where she’s sitting, only the tops of a few trees stand out against the blue sky.

Irene settles on Seungwan’s lap, runs her hands through her own hair then pushes Seungwan’s head closer to her neck, turning to the side to offer better access. Seungwan kisses along its length, careful not to leave any marks. Irene doesn’t like them.

Irene removes her own blazer and lets it drop on the carpet. The sleeveless top underneath it doesn’t last much longer and soon she’s leaning back to push Seungwan along the desired path from her neck to the top of her breasts. Seungwan kisses along the edge of her bra, then brings her arms around Irene’s back to dispose of the offending article of clothing. It’s only at moments like these that Seungwan is reminded that Irene is almost as tiny as herself, her arms enclosing Irene’s slim body without difficulty. She has such a powerful presence that it’s easy to forget. Despite her small, almost frail-looking frame, she stands larger than life.

Irene’s hands wrap around Seungwan’s arms with painful force, pushing them backwards and almost knocking Seungwan off balance. Clearly, she is not meant the remove the bra. She settles for pulling it down once Irene releases her tight grip, then leaning forward to kiss her way down Irene’s breast until her tongue is circling her nipple. Irene grasps the back of Seungwan’s head, nails digging into her scalp, but she doesn’t make a sound.

Seungwan carries on licking, kissing and biting, her left hand coming up to palm Irene’s other breast as the right rests on Irene’s back, keeping her in place. Irene’s body responds easily, her hips rocking to grind lightly on Seungwan, but she doesn’t make any move to guide Seungwan’s actions, apparently happy to leave her to her own devices.

It’s… uncommon. Irene is always the one calling the shots, showing or even telling Seungwan exactly what to do. Now she is silent under Seungwan’s ministrations and it’s almost uncomfortable. Is she bored? Distracted? Is this another test?

Seungwan releases Irene’s breasts and leans backward slightly. She clears her throat, trying to draw her girlfriend’s attention, whose head is thrown back, eyes closed but face far from the typical expression of one lost in pleasure. She simply looks neutral, intimidating even in such an exposed situation, like her imposing aura never quite fades.

Finally, she brings her head forward to study Seungwan. Her brow quirks up and she looks entirely unimpressed as she wordlessly questions why Seungwan has thought it wise to stop her actions. Under her scrutiny, Seungwan suddenly feels like a chastised child, painfully aware that she’s made a basic mistake. She just didn’t know it was a mistake until she made it. She swallows nervously, hand returning to Irene’s breast in the hope that she can pick up where she left off without any consequences. Irene must be in a lenient mood, because she simply grasps Seungwan’s head tighter and lets her eyes fall shut again.

It appears that she is in charge of her own actions for now. The vast realm of possibility stretches before her, a minefield of possible mistakes waiting to be made. It’s easier when Irene orders her around, always safe as long as she obeys adequately. Now she is almost paralyzed by the unknown.

It makes sense, she finally realizes. It’s another one of the incongruencies that manage to meld together when it comes to Irene. Seungwan must be prepared to follow Irene’s commands without questioning, perfectly obedient and compliant. But Irene has no use for a pretty doll with no head of her own. Seungwan must now show that she can take the initiative when it’s necessary, and do it in just the way Irene wants.

It’s certainly a challenging request, but it’s one that would have to be faced eventually. Irene wouldn’t deserve anything less. And really, what’s the worse that can happen? She’ll make a mistake and be punished, sure, but isn’t that what makes the whole thing so wonderful? The thought that Irene might lose her patience, push Seungwan away with a growl, not allow her to touch her as she takes care of herself. Or maybe she’ll get a little rough, her grip so tight that it bruises, her nails scratching until they draw blood. She’ll push Seungwan a little too hard against the wall, pain jolting through her body at the impact, every sensation growing sharper as the shock clears away the numbing throb of arousal.

She groans at the turn her thoughts have taken, hands digging deeper into Irene as if by instinct, and suddenly the paralyzing fear is gone. She grasps Irene by the waist and flips her over onto the bed, following the movement so that she’s leaning over her. The delicious anticipation of punishment fuels her with unexpected boldness, her movements determined and daring as she pulls off Irene’s pants and leans back to study her nearly naked form.

She rests comfortably on the bed, not looking bothered at all by Seungwan’s sudden actions. Her arms spread over the silk covers, taking their time to appreciate the fabric while Seungwan appreciates her. She’s truly beautiful. Smooth milky skin, slender limbs, a face so perfectly sculpted that it looks almost unreal. She looks up at Seungwan, that spark in her eyes as intoxicating as the first time she saw it, and Seungwan thinks back to her earlier reflections. Irene is a storm, beautiful and dangerous, and she feels like she’s getting closer to the centre, the core of it all. She shivers at the thought of what awaits her there.

Then she leans down and captures Irene’s lips in a bruising kiss. For once, she is able to bite without retribution, the woman under her simply following along with her actions, matching them with just enough enthusiasm. She runs her hands down her stomach, soft as silk but rock-hard underneath, a reminder that Irene is more than fit. It’s the first time she’s had the opportunity to touch whatever she wants and she relishes it, like a visitor at a museum that has finally been allowed to explore every inch of the artwork.

Unable to resist any longer, she slips a hand under the waistband of Irene’s underwear, feels the wetness already pooling there with a rush that almost leaves her dizzy. She slides inside her easily and begins to pump her fingers into Irene, slowly at first then picking up her pace when her mouth returns to Irene’s neck. She leans sideways to lean her weight on her elbow so that her other hand is free to fondle Irene’s breast.

Irene herself remains still on the bed. She moves along with Seungwan’s thrusts in languid motions, but her arms and legs rest on the covers. Seungwan pauses to consider them, mulls a thought over in her mind before putting it into action. She reaches for Irene’s arm, cautiously at first then more boldly as she finds no resistance, and pulls it up to rest on her ass. Irene’s hand doesn’t move from its assigned place and Seungwan reaches for the other one to squeeze it between their bodies until it’s groping her breast. Then she returns her attention to the wetness between Irene’s legs. As soon as she begins touching her again, Irene’s hands spring to life, massaging and kneading the sensitive flesh where they’ve been placed and sending thrills of arousal coursing through Seungwan’s veins.

As she pumps harder, Irene’s hands work faster and grasp tighter, and soon their laboured breaths mingle in the silence of the bedroom. Her thumb reaches for Irene’s clit, causing her hands to freeze for a fraction of a second before they’re slipping under Seungwan’s clothes. The brush of Irene’s fingers against her nipple has Seungwan resettling against her legs in search of a better support on which to grind. Irene’s hand on her ass pulls her closer, guiding her movements.

It takes a few more minutes for Irene to come, clenching tightly around Seungwan’s fingers and going completely still, but not making a single sound. Once her body has relaxed under Seungwan’s touch and Seungwan has pulled back, Irene wastes no time in turning them around, pinning Seungwan to the bed with a violent movement that pushes the breath out of her lungs. At once, she is meek again, yielding to Irene’s will as it becomes evident that her moment of independence is over. She gazes up at Irene, trying to read her face, to tell whether she’s passed or failed this particular test.

Irene’s hands grasp Seungwan’s shoulders, nails digging down until a trickle of blood drips down on the bed. She follows the liquid with single-minded focus, paying no attention to her girlfriend’s gaze, then slowly leans down to lick her way along Seungwan’s neck. Seungwan shivers at the touch, tentatively assuming that she’s passed the test. Reaching a particularly sensitive spot near Seungwan’s ear, Irene bites down, so hard that Seungwan can’t help but cry out in surprise.

“Quiet”, Irene growls against her ear, the hint of danger in that single word bringing a shiver down her spine. She presses her lips closely together at once, eager to obey, but Irene pushes herself up and away from her regardless.

Before she can decide whether to protest, implore or acquiesce, it becomes clear that Irene hasn’t been turned off entirely as she stands up at the end of the bed and begins to pull Seungwan against her by her legs. Then she gives her one last rough pull to indicate that she should get up and slams her against the nearest bedpost as soon as she complies. It creaks under the sudden weight, the edge of the carved wood digging into Seungwan’s back.

She swallows a grunt of pain, Irene’s command still fresh in her memory, and brings her arms back against the post to steady herself. Irene steps forward, taking the opportunity to quickly unbutton Seungwan’s shirt, then pulls her forward to take it off entirely. Without a moment’s hesitation, she brings Seungwan’s arms up and uses the shirt to tie them to the post. She pulls on the knot so hard that Seungwan is afraid she’ll rip it apart, but the fabric holds and she finds herself tightly bound and unable to break free on her own.

Irene watches her test the knot, a small smirk on her lips at Seungwan’s confirmation that she’s stuck. Once Seungwan relaxes against her bonds, she leans forward, hands holding on to Seungwan’s hips firmly.

“You got blood on my bedspread”, she whispers in a voice that is tinged with amusement, although Seungwan knows better than to take it at face value. “It’s very expensive, Wendy.” She lifts one hand to Seungwan’s shoulder, already stinging from the way the awkward position of her arms puts pressure on the cuts, and pushes down on the broken skin. Seungwan sucks in a breath but doesn’t make a sound, which seems to satisfy Irene because her smirk grows wider.

She releases Seungwan’s shoulder to bring a finger to her own lips, smiling mischievously as she reminds Seungwan of the rule. Then, finger still in place, she reaches out with her other hand to cup Seungwan between her legs. The movement is unexpected and Seungwan’s body jerks in response, pressing hard against the bedpost. She hisses at the sudden pain in her back and tries to stretch it out somewhat, which is a little hard when her hands are tied to the post.

Meanwhile, Irene watches her with a suddenly serious expression. Her hand is still pressed between Seungwan’s legs, but it’s completely motionless. She catches Seungwan’s eye, staring her down for a moment before opening her mouth.

“I said”, she begins in a low voice that edges closer to scary than seductive, “quiet” She draws out the word, hand pushing a little harder against Seungwan, so that the sensations of fear and arousal battle for dominance within her, eventually giving up their struggle and melding deliciously into a single entity.

“It’s a simple enough instruction, Wendy”, Irene continues in the tone of a disappointed parent. Her middle finger pushes up a little higher than the others, putting pressure on all the right places, and Seungwan resists the urge to grind against Irene’s hand. “It’s only one word, and a very short one at that”

The hand on Seungwan’s hip moves up along her naked stomach, first only brushing the skin on fingertips, then gradually increasing the pressure until nails draw angry red welts that contrast with its naturally pale hue. “Am I to expect that someone with your level of education is stumped by a single monosyllable?” The hand pauses as the fingers dig down and Seungwan quivers at the contact, legs growing unsteady as more and more of her weight is supported by her upstretched arms.

“Are you an idiot, Wendy?”, Irene asks coldly. She suddenly abandons Seungwan’s stomach to grab onto her breast, hardened nipple already evident even though her bra is still on. Irene swipes it with her thumb, causing Seungwan’s legs to falter entirely for a moment before she’s pushing herself up again. She swallows a moan, eyes fluttering closed as she bites down on her lip to keep silent.

“Look at me”, Irene immediately demands, her stern voice so incongruent with the way her fingers begin to move against the fabric of Seungwan’s pants. Seungwan opens her eyes to look into Irene’s, as cold and unbothered as ever. “I asked, are you an idiot?”

Irene clearly expects a response, but Seungwan knows she can’t speak, so she hesitates before shaking her head. It’s hard to follow Irene’s rules when all her attention insists on drifting to the spots where her hands continue to work, brushing against her nipple and pressing between her legs. All she can think about is how she wishes Irene would take off her pants.

“Then why are you acting like one?”, Irene asks as she slips her hand inside the cup of Seungwan’s bra and grabs her breast more fully. She’s really not sure how to answer this one, and it doesn’t help that her brain is more than happy to abandon all higher functions in favour of focusing greedily on every sensation hitting her body. Her mind is fuzzy, her eyes heavy-lidded, her whole body languid and weak as she trembles under Irene’s touches.

As Irene’s hand moves up to unbutton her pants, Seungwan can’t suppress an expectant sigh, although she is careful to keep it silent. She doesn’t know whether her eyes should still be open, so she makes an effort not to let them slip closed even as Irene’s fingers begin to slide under the waistband of her underwear, slowly moving lower. Then the fingers move down and effortlessly inside her, aided by how wet she knows she is.

The action is too sudden and she can’t avoid moaning in response. In a flash, Irene’s hand leaves her breast and clamps around her neck, the grip just tight enough to make the threat known, but not yet affecting her breathing. Seungwan feels her frantic heart beat against Irene’s fingers, even as her other hand moves inside her bringing jolts of pleasure up and down her spine.

A muffled thump sounds from somewhere in the house. Seungwan’s head turns to the door, mind focusing for a moment, although Irene doesn’t seem to even register the noise. She hesitates before pointing it out, but Irene’s thumb brushes against her clit and the thought leaves her mind entirely. She leans into the touch, body relaxing further until her shoulders and wrists are sore from all the weight hanging on them.

There’s another thump, this time accompanied by some clattering. Seungwan stands up straighter. “Did you hear that?”, she asks, and this time there’s no hesitation because she absolutely did not dream that up. Irene’s eyes narrow and the grip on her throat tightens as she breaks the rule again. She shakes her head, indicating that she’s not interested in playing anymore.

“No, Irene, I’m serious”, she says with effort, coughing slightly after the words are spoken. The pressure eases, enough for her to swallow down the discomfort. “I heard a noise, there’s someone in here”, she quickly adds, turning to the bedroom door again. It’s wide open, allowing a view of the empty corridor, and she’s not sure why that somehow makes her feel less secure.

She realises after a moment that it’s because it means Irene didn’t expect anyone to walk in on them. This rules out the possibility that the noises are just from a maid or someone else who is actually supposed to be there. She begins to feel a little nervous, and not in the good, exciting way.

“Untie me”, she requests of Irene, who is still standing in front of her, silent, hand down her pants. Irene’s eyebrow quirks at that, like she doesn’t appreciate the attitude, but Seungwan can’t be too worried about their relationship dynamics when there’s a possible murderer in the house.

Silence stretches between them, so there is absolutely no way for Irene to pretend she hasn’t heard the violent clattering coming from somewhere close. She doesn’t react to it with anything more than an eyeroll and a tilt of her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing”, she remarks casually, and Seungwan can barely believe what she’s hearing.

“Nothing? There could be a robber or a murderer or who knows what else” Her words bring an amused smile to Irene’s lips, for some reason, but it’s quickly replaced by sternly pressed lips as the woman sighs dramatically.

“Fine, then”, she says simply, pushing herself away from Seungwan and reaching up to untie her shirt, not before wiping her hand on Seungwan’s bare stomach. “If you insist, we’ll go… Investigate”, she concludes, drawing out the last word with a tone somewhere between suggestive and ironic.

They quickly put on their clothes and Irene leads Seungwan through the labyrinth of corridors that is her house, heading straight towards the source of the noise. As they approach, the clattering eventually dies down and is replaced by muffled cries. The sound makes Seungwan’s arms break out in goosebumps, an ominous feeling taking over her. Why would a home invader start calling out and why would his voice be muffled?

Before she can think this through, Irene pauses with finality in front of a door. She turns to Seungwan with a face that shows no trace of fear or even surprise, not reacting at all when another muffled cry is heard from just behind the door. Then she opens it and flips on a light switch.

The room looks like a repurposed bathroom, with tiled floor and walls and drains at the corners. The new purpose seems to be more medical, as the only furniture is a low cabinet in a corner, transparent doors locked but allowing a sight of the glinting metallic instruments within. Then there is something that looks like a dentist’s chair, back lowered to a horizontal position. This, too, has been repurposed, because Seungwan is pretty sure that dentist’s chairs don’t come with leather straps at the arms, legs, stomach and neck.

On the chair is a man, eyes wide with fear, flailing around wildly with a leg he’s managed to free from his restraints. The source of the clattering is clearly the medical tool tray that has been kicked until it fell over, spilling its meagre contents: a syringe, a scalpel and a little tray like the ones dentists use to rinse out your mouth. Or maybe like the ones surgeons use to take out organs. She’d rather not dwell on it.

His mouth is tightly gagged with a piece of cloth, which explains the muffled cries. These become louder as he sees them come in, especially directed towards Seungwan. His eyes shift between the two women like he’s trying to figure out their intentions, the tremors shaking his body increasing every time he looks back at Irene. She holds his gaze and smiles.

Seungwan stumbles back against the doorframe, suddenly cold and shivering herself. There’s a ringing in her ears and she just can’t quite grasp what’s going on. Breathing in short, stuttering gasps, she swallows to wet her dry mouth and clings to the wall behind her for support.

The man seems uninjured, aside from a few cuts and bruises on his face, and his movements have slowed down a bit since they walked in, like he’s concerned that his rebellious agitation wouldn’t be taken well. Irene walks forward and grabs his leg, placing it back in its restraint and tightening it. He doesn’t fight back, only looks at her and whimpers. Once he’s been immobilized, she picks up the tool tray and places the instruments back inside, fingers lingering on the scalpel like she’s caressing it.

Seungwan’s stomach churns at the sight. She feels her hands go numb as the ringing noise intensifies, unable to draw her eyes away from the small blade in Irene’s grip. She opens her mouth, drawing in a wheezing breath before speaking. “What are y- What’s- Why is he-“, she utters incoherently. She doesn’t even know what to ask, because none of this makes sense, even if there’s a part of her that knows exactly what’s going on, a part that is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

“Well, that’s the thing about general anaesthetics”, Irene remarks calmly, like she’s complaining that the cook over-salted their food. “You can estimate the amount based on weight, but there’s always some guessing involved and, well…” She moves her arms around while she talks, the scalpel in her hand slicing through the air and catching the light from the overhead lamp. “If one of us is going to be waiting, it should be the guy strapped to the chair, right? He’s not going anywhere”, she adds playfully, pointing at the man with the blade and causing both him and Seungwan to start at the motion.

“You brought me here”, Seungwan begins slowly, hands spread against the cold tiles at her back, “knowing he might wake up?”

Irene lets her hand fall as she ponders Seungwan’s question. It lands on the chair by the man’s arm and he shrinks away from it frantically, his whimpers increasing in volume for a moment. Then a smile spreads slowly over her features until she’s grinning playfully, like a child with a secret that would require only the slightest prodding to spill. Seungwan doesn’t want to prod. She doesn’t want to know.

“Actually”, Irene enunciates, dragging the scalpel back and forth along the arm of the chair, sometimes coming dangerously close to the man’s naked arm but never making contact, “I lied” She pauses, giggles excitedly, presses the blunt edge of the scalpel against bare skin. Seungwan nearly yelps at the sight, but she holds herself back, grits her teeth against the growing nausea. “He was definitely going to wake up”, she admits in a tone that is almost seductive, like she honestly thinks Seungwan would play along with this.

She looks at Seungwan expectantly, like she’s searching for something there. Her single-minded focus brings a cold sweat to the back of Seungwan’s neck and she presses back harder to keep her hands from shaking. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t get enough air into her lungs. She feels like she’s going to collapse right here, in this sterile room where Irene cuts people open with those shiny metal tools, all sharp edges and stabbing points.

“I mean, why do you think his leg got loose?”, Irene adds after a pause. She quirks an eyebrow like the mere insinuation that it was accidental offends her. “I know better than that. I’m not some amateur”

Seungwan wonders how many people she’s had in this room, doing who knows what, to consider herself a professional at it. How could she even hide this for so long? Is Seungwan really this dense? This unwilling to see?

Irene holds up the scalpel, smiles at it then back at Seungwan. “I wanted you to hear”, she says simply. She turns it over, no longer holding it like a tool but more like a knife, fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt. She swallows thickly, the smile fading to be replaced with something more eager, something hungry. “I wanted you to see”, she adds, eyes still on the blade. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. The nausea is overpowering, Seungwan’s heart hammering in her chest as she lets her own gaze linger on the scalpel.

It flies down without warning, buries itself in the soft flesh just below a clavicle, not meeting any resistance until the entire blade is hidden from view and the blood comes pouring out of the man’s shoulder and staining the chair, staining the tiles, staining Irene’s fingers. The man screams, or at least she assumes he does. For a moment, she can’t hear anything at all, the ringing in her ears blocking out everything else. She feels impossibly light, like she’s not even there. All she sees is the blood trickling to the floor.

And she knows. The look on Irene’s face as she watches the wound, twists her blade in it so that more blood gushes out, it’s not the look of someone who cuts people open and then sets them free. It’s not the look of someone who threatens or tortures for a reason, with a purpose. It’s the look of someone who traps people in her home and murders them. Simply because she wants to.

Seungwan’s stomach clenches tightly and she swings around the doorframe to vomit, except she never does. Instead, she finds herself flying down the corridor, numb legs somehow managing to carry her weight as fast as she’s ever run. She has no idea how to get out of the house, how to escape even if she does, but she knows she can’t stop running.

As soon as she rounds the corner, she hears the man scream out again. Then she hears hurried steps. Irene doesn’t speak, only runs towards her. She keeps going, as fast as she can, stumbling around every corner until she finds a staircase. Irene’s steps sound farther away now, like she’s losing ground, and she hurries to increase her advantage, barely coordinated enough to make it down the stairs without slipping.

Downstairs, she runs through a single hallway before Irene appears in front of her, cutting her off. Of course, she didn’t lose ground at all, she just took a shortcut while Seungwan was running around in circles upstairs. She tries to turn on her heel, but nearly falls down. Desperate, she reaches for the nearest door, and stops in her tracks as the bloody scalpel buries itself in the wall in front of her. She turns around, comes face to face with her girlfriend, who breathes heavily for a few moments before tilting her head towards the bloody hole she’s made in the wall.

“Now look what you made me do”, she says coldly. Seungwan has never seen her like this. She’s been angry before but this is a completely different kind of anger. It’s a cold, detached feeling, but somehow looks much more dangerous. As Irene studies her silently, awaits something like an apology or an expression of regret, Seungwan can only think that she’s found Irene’s centre. The eye of the storm. And she really shouldn’t have. Now, in this little pocket of stillness, she knows there’s no way out except walking into the vortex and letting herself be pulled apart.

Irene sighs, pulls the scalpel back and studies the hole in the wall. “I’m going to have to get contractors in here”, she mutters under her breath, like that’s the most pressing concern right now. Then she returns her eyes to Seungwan and seems to remember their predicament.

“Look, Wendy”, she says with impatience, scowling at the way Seungwan trembles against the wall. “I’m not going to kill you, obviously. If I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead a long time ago. I’m very good at getting what I want” She raises her brows, lets her words sink in. The veneer of calmness that she affects is far too transparent and Seungwan can see the white-hot rage underneath. She presses herself closer against the wall.

“So you see, you have no reason to be scared”, Irene claims, over-enunciating every word, and no reassuring smile follows her words. Instead, she glances into Seungwan’s eyes yet again. “So don’t”, she suddenly adds, pausing the sentence to slam her hand into the wall right by the bloody hole. Seungwan jumps at sudden movement. “Be scared”, she finishes a little lower.

Her eyes bore into Seungwan’s. They’re completely bare, wiped clean of everything, and Seungwan knows instinctively that all that’s ever flitted through them is fake. Every hint of affection, amusement, even displeasure. They’re all acts that Irene plays whenever she feels like it. What she truly feels, what she truly is, is this sterile nothingness staring back at her. And that’s when it hits her. What she’s looking at is that spark, so elusive, always hiding behind something or other, now bare for only Seungwan to see. And she finally understands what she’s been looking for all this time.

Her knees suddenly give way and she slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the hardwood floor. In a flash, a thousand moments run through her mind and take on a whole new meaning. Irene’s hand on her throat, her nails on her fragile skin, eager to hurt, eager to bruise. Nothing changes in those touches, but somehow everything changes. The threat was always there, but now it feels too real, too stark, too much.

Seungwan never knew the stakes of the game she’s been playing. She thought is was just pretend, an entertaining give and take, that she was Irene’s plaything to doll up and show off, that it was up to her to keep her interested. But only now does she realize what will happen if she doesn’t keep her interested. Only now does she realize what Irene meant when she warned her not to disappoint her. She never knew she was gambling with her life.

Irene sighs again, squats down beside her. Her hand, still stained with blood, comes up to brush Seungwan’s hair away from her face with a gentle grace that seems so unfitting of the situation. A film of sympathy covers the nothingness in her eyes as she attempts to comfort a trembling Seungwan that struggles not to flinch at the touch.

“I didn’t see it at first”, she says in a softened voice. Her eyes are on Seungwan’s face and she wonders if she’s studying the blood she’s left on her cheek. That man’s blood. She pauses like she’s searching for the right words. “I was frustrated, you acted like you weren’t even trying to be my Wendy. You broke up with me”, she adds with sudden sharpness, like the memory still stings. Then she smiles, intended as a reassuring gesture, but all Seungwan sees is teeth.

“But I was being unfair. How could I expect you to be my Wendy, to become my Wendy, if you weren’t with the true Irene? If I was keeping parts of myself hidden, how could you learn to bloom like me?” She explains it slowly, with something like wonder and pride. Seungwan tries to nod along, follow her lead, but her body refuses to obey her, frozen, nearly collapsed against the wall.

“You needed… Guidance. Someone to tell you what to do, how to grow. I expected too much of you”, Irene continues in a patronizing tone, hand back on Seungwan’s cheek, thumb brushing over the skin and bringing shivers up and down Seungwan’s back. “I needed to be more patient”, she adds in a whisper, then breaks into a crooked smile. “And now you’re finally ready to be my Wendy”

She pulls away and stands up, then reaches for Seungwan’s arms to help her up. For a moment, Seungwan only looks up at her in confusion, unmoving, but then she accepts the help and gets up on unsteady legs.

“You need some time to process this. I understand. I’ll take you home and you can call me when you’re ready to talk”, Irene says gently, curling her fingers around Seungwan’s wrist to guide her out of the house. The grip is not tight enough to bruise, but too tight for her to break without drawing Irene’s anger. It explains Seungwan’s situation better than anything Irene has said.

On the way to the car, Irene pauses. “Oh, and this is a bit awkward but… Don’t tell anyone about this, obviously. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you give me no choice”, she warns with a sympathetic shrug. Seungwan manages to nod this time, although she still doesn’t trust herself to speak. The way Irene discusses murder so nonchalantly is eerie, like looking at something that’s nearly human but stopped just short of the mark.

She gets in the car and Irene drives her home in silence. She barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning, covered in a cold sweat. She goes over the threats, Irene’s words, Irene’s eyes, the blood on the scalpel, the man’s screams, the hand on her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. She brings her hands up to her wounded shoulders, the small punctures of Irene’s nails already scabbed over, and she scratches at them until the skin breaks again. She winces as she presses down, the pain a steady anchor in the middle of this new and confusing reality.

In the morning, she conceals the dark bags under her eyes and goes to work.

(…)

It’s been a week since she last saw Irene and she still can’t bring herself to think about it. She knows she can’t avoid the subject forever, but maybe she can just take a bit of time, enough for her head to stop reeling. Or at least enough that she can confirm it won’t ever stop.

She steps into the apartment with a sigh, a headache beginning to form. The effort of focusing on her work while a million distracted thoughts buzz around her mind tires her out easily and she’s been getting out of the office much earlier than usual, even before dinner time. That’s something else that would probably benefit from her taking the time to think her situation through, make a decision. But can’t she leave it for later?

Her shoes are left by the door and her purse dropped on a nearby table to pick up next morning, then she finally lets her eyes sweep the room. She nearly jumps as she notices a familiar figure standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame.

“You said you’d give me time”, she stutters out, steadying herself against the nearest wall. Irene takes a step forward, coming closer as she shrugs with nonchalance.

“I got bored”, she states simply, taking another step. She walks gracefully, barely touching the ground as she glides ever nearer to Seungwan. For a time, the apartment almost felt safe, but she should have known Irene could find a way in if she ever wanted to.

Her eyes lower from Irene’s face, lit by a playful smirk, and quickly take all of her in. She’s dressed casually, in trousers and a simple blouse, wearing low heels that make no sound as they land on the hallway floor. One of her hands is hidden behind her back and her smile widens as she sees Seungwan notice it.

“You know, I’ve always appreciated your knife collection”, she says slowly as her hand comes into view, fingers clasped around the handle of a long, single-edge kitchen knife. Seungwan’s eyes follow the movement while the rest of her remains frozen in place. Soon, Irene is close enough to reach out and touch her.

She brings the weapon up to her face, studies it with a critical eye. “It’s a little worn down, you probably sharpen it too often”, she informs as she angles the blade every which way. Her tone is professional, but her eyes glint with amusement as she finishes the evaluation and brings her gaze up to Seungwan’s face. “But I can’t blame you for a little overeagerness”, she concludes with an appreciative smirk.

Her free hand moves in a flash and Seungwan only realizes what’s happening when her wrist is already trapped in Irene’s tight grip. She’s pulled to the bedroom, Irene’s steps almost bouncing with enthusiasm, her own legs shaky and clumsy as she does her best to keep up. Suddenly, she’s turned around and pushed backwards by a gleefully smiling Irene until she hits the edge of her bed and falls backwards onto it with Irene straddling her waist.

Irene doesn’t seem angry, but she didn’t seem that upset when she stabbed that man either. In fact, she looked just about as cheery as she does right now, trapping Seungwan with her legs and still holding on to that very large knife. She said she got bored, but what does that mean? Is she going to force acceptance on Seungwan and carry on like nothing’s wrong or will she go back on her word and kill her just for fun?

Seungwan’s heart starts beating painfully against her chest as Irene fixes her with a stare that gives nothing away. A hand rests against her sternum, keeping Irene in place as she leans forward until her hair brushes against Seungwan’s face and her lips hover by her ear.

“Do you know my favourite thing about killing people?”, she asks in a whisper that brings chills down Seungwan’s spine. She moves back just enough to catch her eye as Seungwan nervously shakes her head from side to side, not trusting herself to speak. Irene’s lips twist into a pout. “That’s because you never asked”, she complains in a whining voice.

In a sudden motion that pushes the air out of Seungwan’s lungs, she brings herself up to a sitting position. She shrugs, the plaintive look in her face disappearing as it’s quickly replaced by placid acceptance. “Now I guess you never will”, she muses. Then she brings the knife up above Seungwan’s chest and plunges it down between two ribs, burying it in her flesh with a sickening sound.

It’s the sound that she didn’t expect. Everything else she saw just a week before. The skin yielding and breaking, the flesh tearing, the blade slowly vanishing like one of those trick knives from the theatre, going deep inside where metal doesn’t belong. But now she’s close enough to hear it, over Irene’s involuntary exhale that reflects the sick pleasure stamped on her face. She barely feels it, but the sound makes it undeniably real.

She takes a choked breath, hands twitching as she looks up and waits for the pain to come crawling in, bringing numbing darkness in its heels. In the time she has left, she studies every line in Irene’s face. She sees the fire lighting it like nothing ever has, like she’s finally in her element. It’s breath-taking, perfection straddling the line between life and death.

A hint of doubt blooms from somewhere inside as she watches, spreading from the skin in between Irene’s eyebrows, which wrinkles as she furrows them. Her eyes narrow, her ecstatic smile droops, her neck tilts to the side and finally the motion spreads to her arms and she pulls out the knife, slowly, with wonder.

It’s completely clean, no hint of blood on the blade. Irene edges forward and looks down into the gaping wound she’s carved in Seungwan’s chest, her expression of puzzlement and curiosity making her look deceptively innocent. Seungwan tilts her head awkwardly to study the cut herself, noting with surprise that her clothes are ripped but spotless, not a trace of red anywhere on her. The broken skin surrounds an impossibly deep hole that tapers off into darkness.

“Now that’s unexpected”, Irene mutters, even bringing up a hand to bury cautiously inside Seungwan’s chest, fingers wiggling around the vast emptiness. “No heart!”, she exclaims with a chuckle. She beams at Seungwan, lets the knife drop beside them on the bed.

She pulls her hand out of Seungwan and brings it to rest on her cheek. The skin is smooth, the only hint that it’s been inside her given by how unnaturally cold it feels, like it’s been placed inside a refrigerated machine. Her smile as she looks into Seungwan’s eyes is sweet, sweeter than it’s ever been before.

“We match”, she breathes out in a happy whisper. Then she leans down to capture Seungwan’s lips in a gentle kiss which quickly grows passionate. Her hand is still on Seungwan’s cheek, slowly growing warmer, and the other burrows under her shirt and flattens itself against her stomach. She readjusts her legs to bring pressure against Seungwan’s crotch, hums in amusement as Seungwan squirms against the touch.

Seungwan lets herself be overwhelmed by Irene’s caresses. As soon as she closes her eyes, the touches seem to multiply, like Irene’s hands and mouth press against every inch of her skin. Everywhere, it’s nothing but Irene, her presence sweet and intoxicating.

And it’s like the final puzzle piece has slotted into place. She doesn’t know why she’s been running for so long, spent so many days avoiding it, when all that time could have been used in much better ways. Irene’s lips press against her neck, tongue darting out to lick the soft flesh, and she feels complete. Like never before. In a flash, the meaning of life is clear to her, the entire cosmos opens itself up to her, all its secrets exposed for her to explore at will.

Irene’s touch on her feels like coming home. And she knows exactly what she meant. Now, with the true Irene, she can be the Wendy she was born to be. And it’s all thanks to her. She brings her arms up and around Irene, pulls her closer in a sloppy hug, trying to communicate all that she now understands. She feels elated, ecstatic, enraptured. Irene’s fingers brush against the waistband of her underwear.

Seungwan’s eyes pop open with a jolt and there’s nothing around her but darkness. She blinks again and again, willing the other reality to return before she finally awakens enough to realize that it was all a dream. She breathes in shakily, her body still warm and trembling with arousal.

She rubs at her eyes furiously, trying to recover a semblance of composure, before she pauses, gasping at vague memories. Her hand flies to her chest, presses down with urgency, but nothing is there. Of course, she’d be dead if there were, no matter how much her subconscious seems to believe otherwise.

Trying to steady her breaths, she stares at the nearly invisible ceiling, its edges dulled by darkness, surfaces fading into each other. A wise woman would ignore that dream and whatever it was trying to tell her. A wise woman would keep her head down and try to muddle through the mess she’s made of her life. But maybe a wise woman wouldn’t have gotten involved with Irene in the first place, so it might be too late for Seungwan when it comes to wisdom.

She blinks hard once, twice, but nothing changes. Her chest heaves with each rushed breath, hand following the movement as it rests against it. Under her palm, she feels the hammering of her heart. It really is too late to be wise, especially when her entire body is screaming at her to stop running and give in.

She breathes in deeply, breathes out slowly. Her hand slips slowly down her chest and across her stomach. Her fingers brush against the waistband of her underwear.

(…)

There’s a decided knock at the door of her office. Before she can even respond, the visitor is letting himself in, his balding head peeking into the room before the rest of him follows.

“Seungwan, can I talk to you in my office?”, the man asks affably, turning back without waiting for a response. He’s not the politest specimen around, but he is one of the senior partners, so a degree of condescension is to be expected. Obediently, she puts down her work and follows him out of the room.

It’s been a few days since that dream and she’s been feeling even more distracted than before. If she really tried, she could bury herself in her work and push it out of her mind entirely, but that’s not really a solution when she knows her days of mulling it over are numbered. Her dream might not have been the most realistic, the high point of incredibility being either her lack of internal organs or Irene’s display of affection, but there is one thing it got right. Eventually, Irene will get bored and come find her.

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable”, the senior partner suggests pleasantly as they reach his office. It’s much larger than hers, of course, bathed in natural sunlight and even stocked with a mini-bar over by his desk. She forces herself away from her thoughts to focus on what he has to tell her. He takes his time, leaning back in his comfortable chair and steepling his fingers as he regards her thoughtfully.

“Seungwan”, he finally says as he sets his palms down on the desk for emphasis. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret” Seungwan only nods, although she feels like she already has enough of those on her mind.

“There is a fundamental difference between junior and senior partners”, he begins to explain in measured tones, pausing to let his words sink in. Seungwan nods again, beginning to grasp where this conversation is headed. “It’s not just the title, the office, the salary”, he enumerates with a few waves of his hand, even as his expression reassures that those things are still a large part of it.

“It’s… the skillset”, he says slowly, picking out just the right words. His searching gaze lands on Seungwan like he’s trying to make sure she follows along. She puts on her best listening-to-teacher face, the one that expresses interest when she only wishes he’d get to the point faster and save her the self-important speech.

“Think of a racehorse” Oh, great, the speech has metaphors. They’re definitely going to be in here for a while. “Even if you pick the strongest, fastest horse out there, if you train it and exercise it until it’s at peak physical capacity, that’s still not enough to win. A horse is only ever as good as its jockey. Put a fool on that saddle and I guarantee your prized stallion will finish dead last”

Seungwan listens half-heartedly, her mind drifting to more amusing thoughts while the man strokes his own ego with his fancy, carefully picked words. His name escapes her at the moment, because all she can remember is the nickname she and Irene picked out for him weeks ago. Mr. Handsy.

It was a quiet evening, when Irene began asking questions about her work and eventually suggested they play a little game. Seungwan gave her the names and contacts of her bosses and she used them, along with her hacking skills, to dig up as much information on them as she could. They found a lot more than Seungwan had expected, enough that each of the senior partners was immediately fitted with a brand-new nickname, most of them thought up by Irene.

“A good junior partner is like a good horse. Vigorous, fast and obedient. He puts in the work hours that keep this company afloat and he is an essential part of the machine. But eventually horses trip and break a leg and get sent off to the glue factory”, Mr. Handsy continues, too taken by his own words to pay much attention to Seungwan’s reaction.

It’s a little ironic that Mr. Handsy is the one giving the racing speech. She would have assumed that this kind of thing would be more up Stud’s alley, being addicted to horse racing and all. He’s an expert at blowing all his money on impossible wagers and then turning around and embezzling a little more to keep himself afloat.

“The thing about working 100 hours a week, Seungwan, is that nobody can do it forever. It takes about 20 years for people to burn out, and then, well…” He trails off, shrugs with a sort of detached sympathy. He doesn’t have to spell out what happens then. They get sent off to the glue factory. She raises her brows as she patiently takes it in, but he must mistake it for scepticism because he begins to explain further.

“Really, no matter how passionate they are about their work, everybody has their breaking point” He frowns thoughtfully for a moment then elaborates. “Especially women. Once they turn 40 and realize they're never going to have children, it's just game over”

The casual sexism is nothing new, so she shrugs it off without a second thought. All in all, it could be worse. She could be getting this speech from Snowman, with his jerky sentences and flashy handwaving. Every second of his time is precious, so he rushes through every meeting and every case. She wonders if that's a symptom or the cause for his constant cocaine use. His wife probably complained about it before he got her popping Xanax like they're cough drops.

“When you've been around as long as I have, you start to get a nose for it. Sniffing out the people who have potential from the ones that will never go anywhere” Seungwan forces her attention back on the man just as he continues his blabbering. It sounds like he might be getting close to the point, so she straightens up in her chair.

“You know what it is?”, he asks with immense satisfaction. Yes, he's definitely getting somewhere now. “It's that they figure it out. That you can't just live for your work. You have to have something else” She tenses at his words. She begins to see where this is headed and a vague anger rises up from within her. She was never on the fast track to success, all this time they were watching her and waiting for her to drop from exhaustion to swoop in with a severance package. Her fingers grasp the arms of the chair tightly.

“For a while there, it didn't look like you had it in you”, Mr. Handsy jokes, unaware of the change in Seungwan's mood. “But lately, something’s changed. You've found it, haven't you? The thing you can live for” He smiles congenially at her, expecting bashful agreement, pleasure at the suggestion in his words. He doesn't notice the way her knuckles have gone white, clenching tightly to keep her hands from shaking.

She never liked Mr. Handsy. He has a lovely wife and two beautiful children and he throws it all away to cavort with prostitutes. It's not the morality of it so much as the degradation of having to pay for anyone to have sex with him. Not to mention that most of the prostitutes never agree to see him more than once. One even went missing in more than mysterious circumstances after their time together. He just can't keep his hands to himself, it seems.

If Irene were to murder him, would it really be that bad? A killer for a killer, sounds like a fair balance. It's not like the world would miss him. And the same goes for Snowman and Stud. Reprobates and criminals, each and every one of them.

Irene laughed every time they uncovered more incriminating evidence, then suggested the nicknames with mischievous glee. Seungwan came up with Stud. She was very proud of that, Irene even praised her for the wordplay.

After a while, Irene shut her laptop and turned to her with sudden seriousness. “Do you see, Wendy?”, she asked gravely, holding her gaze with intensity. “Deep down, everyone is like this. Not everybody has the chance to get away with it, but anyone who does will. It's human nature, coded in our DNA. Selfishness and cruelty. The concept of evil is meaningless because it's a shared trait of the human race. All that really matters is who comes out on top”

Irene's words manage to calm her down and she relaxes somewhat against her seat. Mr. Handsy eyes her expectantly and she nods in an attempt to match his eagerness. He smiles, seeming appeased. “Keep this up and you can expect some good news very soon”, he concludes with a wide smile, reaching out his hand. Seungwan hesitates before grasping it, shaking it with well-concealed disgust.

She knows what changed in her behaviour. It was Irene, coming into her life like a bolt of lightning and setting everything on fire with a blast of sparks. It all comes down to her, doesn't it?

She hates this. Hates it more than anything. This arbitrary setting of rules. It's always been this way, ever since she was a child. People set the rules and they tell you again and again that you have to follow them or you'll get in trouble. And inevitably, she'll stumble upon the truth. That nobody actually follows them. That they all act like they do, while secretly breaking them for their own benefit. At school, at work, even in life. Because what are morals, ethics, even manners, if not another set of rules? And for every one of them, the trick has always been to break them when no one is watching and reap the benefits.

Students who get caught cheating are punished. Those who don't, achieve the same results with a fraction of the effort. People who sacrifice themselves for others only ever get their gratitude, but what about the thing they sacrificed? She'd much rather just have that, especially when not even gratitude is guaranteed. People are only ever good when it benefits them, because nobody is truly good.

Rules are nothing but a big hoax and she's always been the dope who's one step behind, thinking that following them will get her anywhere. She's tired of being the butt of the joke. Of jumping through the hoops that a bunch of mediocre fools have decided to put in her way.

None of them deserve to tell her what to do. Is she really supposed to take her cue from those lazy idiots who can't even be bothered to cover their own tracks? She could bring them all down with what she knows. The only reason she doesn't is because the scandal would destroy the firm and bring her down with it. Especially now that she's so close to making senior partner.

The only thing that soothes her in this sea of chaos is Irene. In her anger, she can't bring to mind the fear, the doubts, the danger. All she can think is that Irene isn't like these amateurs, these posers. Seungwan follows her rules, not just because she fears the consequences of disobeying, but because they’re the only ones that have ever made sense. They weren’t created to be sneakily circumvented. She should obey them to the letter, because they describe how Irene wants her to behave, how she can keep Irene satisfied.

Irene is honest, straightforward. And above all, Irene has established her authority through more than luck or coincidence somehow landing her above Seungwan in the food chain. She pulled herself up there on her own merit. She has the power behind the words, the right to demand obedience. She’s the only person Seungwan has ever respected.

Already back in her own office, comfortably alone, she feels the anger dissipate into nothing as she reflects. She feels silly to have ever avoided the issue. All this time wondering what she should do, how she should approach it, how to navigate the treacherous waters of dating a murderous, probably psychopathic woman. She never had to worry in the first place. Irene will tell her what to do and she’ll do it. That’s just the way it is.

She pulls out her phone, scrolls down to Irene’s contact. It’s the middle of the day and she should be working, but she doesn’t hesitate to pack away her things as she waits for Irene to pick up. She’s all set to go when she finally reaches her.

“Can we talk?”, she whispers nervously into the receiver. It’s time to face this head-on. For better or for worse.

(…)

Wendy trembles in the corner of the sofa, like some frightened woodland creature. She sounded more confident when they spoke on the phone, but Irene’s presence seems to have syphoned away her bravado. They sit silently as Irene waits for Wendy to ask her questions or express her opinions.

It’s been a few days since the phone call. It caught Irene in the middle of checking the translation of a newfound Egyptian tablet and she would have gladly postponed the study in favour of getting the answers she’s been expecting impatiently, but it’s important not to set that kind of precedent. She doesn’t want Wendy dropping in on her unannounced or assuming that she is entitled to her time.

Of course, inviting her over just to stare at her with wide eyes could also be seen as a waste of her time. She sighs, crosses her legs, fixes Wendy with a stare that hopefully communicates how it would be in her best interest to start talking now.

The fact that she called at all is good, Irene assumes. If Wendy weren’t at least a little open to the idea of Irene murdering people, then she would have just tried to run or go to the police or something equally silly and dramatic. After all, if she rejects Irene again, she’ll absolutely have to die. It’s not only a question of pride, it’s the fact that she has very sensitive information and Irene has to take the basic precautions. She’s homicidal, but she’s not crazy.

“Tell me about it”, Wendy whispers through shaky lips. She takes a steadying breath, some of the tension leaving her rigid frame. The bravado must be coming back. That’s good, Irene only has so much patience for frail little things. She enjoys the melodramatic fear when it comes before a kill, but in any other occasion it just leaves her feeling vaguely disgusted.

She clasps her hands together, studies Wendy for a moment before speaking. She finds that these moments of tense silence work wonders for loosening tongues. Stand in front of your victim with a sharp blade and tight lips and they’ll start begging and bargaining like there’s no tomorrow. Which she supposes isn’t entirely wrong for them, unless she really takes her time.

Sure enough, Wendy shifts uncomfortably and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I don’t… It doesn’t have to be anything specific or incriminating or…” She trails off, swallows drily as she hesitantly catches Irene’s eyes. “Just in general. What you do and… How. And why”

Irene tilts her hand, studies the woman in front of her curiously. Her fidgeting seems to have extended beyond fear, taking on an element of… Shyness? It’s hard to tell, always has been for Irene. Looking away, shifting in her seat, they could be due to a million different things. But she’s fairly certain that lip-biting is never a symptom of fear.

Shyness is good. It means that she’s interested and that interest embarrasses her. It means that she does want to know more and isn’t just saying it for Irene’s benefit. That’s good, it’s a step in the right direction. Irene wonders if Wendy knows that she’s undergoing her strictest test yet. It’s not simply about pleasing Irene. There is a right reaction and a right attitude that her Wendy would have. Anything else and she’ll know this Wendy doesn’t have what it takes. She leans forward eagerly.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific than that”, she says in a mild voice, chuckling at Wendy’s chastised reaction. This might be a test, but there’s no reason why she can’t guide her star pupil along. “Think of a question and we’ll start with that”

She’s never made much of an effort to keep the threat out of her voice so she wouldn’t know how to start now, even if she wanted to. Wendy’s fingers tapping frantically on her own thigh as she thinks of a question are proof enough that a hint of it has slipped into her tone, along with the paternal encouragement she was aiming for.

“Right, so… Do you… Kill people”, she begins haltingly, pronouncing the last two words slowly then glancing at Irene like she might have said something wrong. She raises her eyebrows to get Wendy to finish her question sometime this decade. “Just for fun or as a job or, um, both maybe?”

“Both”, Irene answers simply. She awaits the next question but Wendy only looks at her like she's expecting her to elaborate. She sighs. If she must. “I get assignments and carry them out, but they're usually boring. I can't take all the time I want and I can't get up close and really enjoy it. It's all very detached and professional. So in my free time I do it the right way. The fun way”, she adds with a suggestive smirk.

“Right, right, right”, Wendy fires off in a low voice, like she's talking to herself. Still grasping the concept, it appears. Too busy to catch on. Irene will just have to be a little more obvious, then. “So that man in your house… You killed him”

Irene nods slowly then smiles again. “Would you like to know how I did it?” Wendy winces at her words, her brow furrowing for a moment before she composes herself. That's not good. Things are looking dangerous for Wendy. How unfortunate.

“That's the thing”, Wendy adds apologetically, grimacing for some reason. “The killing, with… All that blood and bodily fluids and body parts swinging out of place. It all seems so… gross”, she concludes, making the word sound almost like a question.

Oh. Well, it's not ideal, but it's not final either. At least her issue isn't over morality or taking a human life or whatever else people like to blather on about. That really gets on Irene's nerves. Pointless philosophizing over entirely human matters, trying to set rules where there aren't any. She turns off that line of thought before she can get too distracted and focuses on the issue at hand. Leaning forward, she comes close enough that she could reach out and touch Wendy. She locks eyes with her. “Well, it's the same with sex, isn't it?”, she asks in a low voice.

Wendy nearly jumps in her seat, fixing her wide eyes on Irene's. She seems confused, but she doesn't move away, only muttering a few disconnected syllables before shutting her mouth with a snap and remaining still. “If you describe the logistics of sex mechanically, it will sound just as… Gross”, Irene points out, borrowing Wendy's descriptor with a flair of irony.

“Body parts flailing around and bodily fluids everywhere, isn’t that what you said?” Wendy nods a little stiffly but doesn’t protest the comparison. The future is looking somewhat brighter for her. “What that mechanical description lacks is the very thing that makes sex enjoyable. The sensations. The attraction, the arousal, the release”, she enumerates slowly, suggestively, coming a little closer to rest her hand on Wendy’s knee, just below the hem of her skirt.

Wendy swallows thickly, a little tense under Irene’s touch, but makes no move to pull away. Irene allows herself a smile as her thumb draws small circles on Wendy’s skin. “And killing people feels like that?”, Wendy asks after a moment of silence, eyes alternating between fixing themselves on Irene and wandering shyly around the room. Irene nods the next time they land on her and Wendy seems to digest it, her face unreadable.

They lapse into another silence, broken by Wendy’s question. “What’s… your favourite part?” Her voice is softer and her body isn’t as stiff against the corner of the sofa. Irene’s hand moves up, fingers grazing under the hem of the skirt, and Wendy only acknowledges the action with a small intake of breath.

She taps her fingers over the soft skin of Wendy’s thighs while she appears to mull it over. She already knows the answer, but she enjoys the anticipation, Wendy’s shivers at the light, rhythmic contact. “The waiting”, she finally replies in a voice tinged with enthusiasm. “Following them around, getting to know their routines. Finding a weakness, planning it all out and then… The moment right before. When I know I have them”, she lists in a voice that lowers until it’s barely above a whisper. Under her fingers, she can feel the goosebumps on Wendy’s skin.

“So it’s not the actual killing?”, Wendy asks in an uneven tone. She shifts slightly and Irene repositions her hand, settling it more snugly under the skirt. “Then… Why do you have to do it? Can’t you just do that part and then stop?”

“Think of it like foreplay”, Irene suggests with a sly smile, moving closer until she is hovering near Wendy’s face. “Even if it’s your favourite part of sex, if that’s all you do then it’s not really sex, is it? I mean, how would you feel if I got you all worked up and bothered and then just up and left?” She leans back, lets out a laugh as she remembers. “Oh, I suppose I did. So you know how it feels”, she adds with a smirk, quirking an eyebrow for emphasis.

Wendy shudders a little at her words, her breathing unsteady as she gazes at Irene with darkening eyes. People really are simpler than they’d like to believe. They have basic needs and desires and it’s always easy to appeal to them. Perhaps easier for her than for most. She knows she’s particularly beautiful and danger has always been a powerful aphrodisiac, even when the feeling isn’t entirely conscious.

She pulls back slightly, pleased at the lost look that flashes through Wendy’s face before she schools herself back to neutrality. “So”, she remarks agreeably. “Would you like to know how I did it?”, she repeats, voice neutral but eyes fiery. Wendy knows there’s only one answer for that question.

“Tell me”, she says meekly. Her limbs are frozen as she begins to resemble the scared doe she was at the beginning of the night. Irene pats her knee but doesn’t bother with reassuring words or a sympathetic face. They can both see through that, anyway.

“Well, when I got back home he had already been bleeding for some time, so he wasn’t quite as reactive. The first thing I did was put that scalpel back where it belonged, but he didn’t scream as much as I wanted, so I spent some time trying to get him to perk up a bit. Did you see that tool cabinet in the corner? Did you have time to notice any of the tools? I have some nice surgical saws and a neat little collection of pliers, I’ll have to show it to you next time. I wasn’t sure whether to go for something big to shock him into action or to build up to it in small steps, so I…”

She keeps talking for what must be an hour. It’s hard to keep track of it once she gets going, especially considering that she only ever gets to talk about it with her victims or occasionally with Taeyeon. But never anyone who could understand. So she gets carried away, understandably so. She describes every cut and stab with loving detail, her entire body burning up like she’s doing it all over again. Her limbs become heavy with pleasure, her voice low and raspy, her grip on Wendy’s knee a little tighter, the soft and unbroken skin almost impossibly tantalizing.

When her narrative comes to an end, lingering over her victim’s last breaths while her heart hammers in her chest, her surroundings come into view and she sees Wendy, frozen against the sofa, against her hand. Her eyes are wide, her jaw tightly shut, her breaths quick and shallow like she’s just run a marathon. She grips the side of the sofa so hard that her knuckles are white, and still her hands tremble.

She can’t tell whether she’s aroused or scared. The signs of each are frustratingly similar. Usually, she wouldn’t really care, it would barely matter. But right now, the difference between the two is the line separating life and death for Wendy. Her hand inches up the inside of Wendy’s thigh, slowly, teasingly. Wendy’s breath comes even faster, but still she remains frozen in place.

Has she just thrown her whole life away? Will she have no choice but to dispose of the mess she’s made and move on? Say goodbye to her house, her identity, move somewhere else and start all over again? And Taeyeon, she’ll look at her with that smug face like she knows Irene made a mistake and she’ll have to kill her as well. Hopefully her next handler will be less nosy. She should have killed her the first time she mentioned Wendy, really.

She feels the heat before she touches it. Her lips stretch into a crooked smile and she leans close, so close that she feels Wendy’s gasping breaths on her lips. She lets her fingers brush against wet underwear, cups it as Wendy lets out a whine.

“Good girl”, she whispers in her ear, earning a moan in response. She’s proud of herself, as she should be. She’s found her Wendy. Her obedient little Wendy, who knows, who understands. Who likes it. She slips her fingers inside the underwear, slides along slick folds as Wendy’s body melts into the touch with a sigh.

She brushes against Wendy, fingers moving inside her easily as she settles more comfortably on top of her. She whispers the same words of violence and death against her ear, but this time she doesn’t conceal their meaning by speaking them in rare languages. She says every word clearly, delights in the shudders they bring to life in Wendy’s frame. Every description of carving and ripping and gutting and dripping and oh, Wendy is dripping already.

Wendy’s fingers sink around her shoulders as she grounds herself. “Have you ever”, she begins harshly, barely able to string the words together, “killed a woman?”

Irene laughs at the innocent question. “If I did, would you be jealous?”, she asks suggestively, increasing her pace as she speaks, so that Wendy’s answer is drowned out by a loud moan. “Never for work”, she finally adds. “Women shouldn’t be killed for business, only for pleasure” Wendy’s hold on her shoulders tightens. She moans again as her hands grip and release with jerky motions like her limbs don’t quite know what they want to do.

Irene speeds up again and a high-pitched whine escapes Wendy’s throat just as her fingers begin to claw into Irene’s skin. She pauses, pulls her hand out as she fixes Wendy with a disapproving look. Disregarding her expectant pants, she grabs Wendy’s hands and shoves them away from the nearly-bruised skin, not really bothering where they land.

Instead of squirming with need and anticipation, as she usually does, Wendy watches her with a strange look in her eyes. Irene puzzles over it as her hand slowly makes its way back between Wendy’s legs. Just as she’s reaching her destination, Wendy opens her mouth to speak. She swallows, licks her lips, looks down then immediately back up into Irene’s eyes. Then she seems to make up her mind.

“I have… knives. In the kitchen”, she says in an uncertain yet hopeful tone. Irene’s smirk widens. Yes. She’s found her Wendy.

Later, as she slides the sharpened blades of Wendy’s collection across her stomach in shallow cuts, just enough for the blood to pour out in rivulets and draw lines of red down her sides, she can’t hold back a proud smile even as the sight makes something inside her squirm and struggle to emerge, a want like she’s never felt with Wendy before. Underneath, Wendy closes her eyes in bliss, gasping at the clean pain of each knife-stroke.

It’s a new kind of game. She pins Wendy down and teases her with the knife that could so easily snuff out her life in one swift motion, the threat hanging above them with delicious gravity, heightening every sense. Her twin passions mingle together more perfectly than ever and she knows. This is the best decision she’s ever made. She’ll keep her Wendy around for a long time.

(…)

She dances freely, shifting her body in wide, dynamic movements despite the protesting aches of all her cuts and bruises. Maybe even because of them. More than Irene’s hands around her waist, it’s the pain that reminds her that she is owned. Under the blinding lights that sweep the dancefloor too rapidly to let anything come into clear focus, the stinging keeps her stable, rooted. It’s like a secret that only she and Irene share, a deeper meaning that is hidden from everyone else.

Her outfits are chosen carefully, these days. They must take into account any fresh cuts that are too conspicuous to wave away. She barely ever bares her midriff anymore, but she doesn’t miss it, not when she’s rewarded by Irene’s fingers drifting over the patched wounds and pushing, just slightly, just enough for an unheard hiss to escape her.

Despite her apparent carelessness when it comes to hurting Seungwan, there are still some things that Irene doesn’t disregard. She gives her lotions to reduce scarring, forbids her from exposing any of the wounds to sunlight, prescribes all the necessary cares to prevent Seungwan’s porcelain skin from being blemished by those ugly, off-white welts. Seungwan is eager to comply, all too aware that one too many defects and Irene’s shiny new toy will lose its appeal.

She knows her place. She’s not under some delusion that Irene loves her or cares for her. She would never presume to have any hold on her heart. Irene isn’t the kind of person who feels such things. She’s above all that, above the petty concerns that chain humanity down and keep them from reaching their full potential. Irene has reached her full potential.

Perfect, luscious lips move closer to whisper in her ear that she should go get them some drinks. Irene likes to send her off on her own, see how she behaves. She always makes sure to be just good enough. But not too good. It wouldn’t be fun if she were never punished.

She moves through the crowd, breaking them apart to escape the dancefloor and reach the bar, where the lighting is more even and the music is slightly less deafening. She leans across the counter, making sure to pick a spot where she’ll attract the attention of more than just the bartender. Jealousy looks good on Irene, or perhaps possessiveness is the better word. As long as she doesn’t push it, she’s sure to get some fun out of it.

Sometimes her own daring surprises her. She knows what Irene is, what she’s risking. But when she sees that look in her eyes, unrestrained, a breath away from uncontrolled, she can’t help herself. Her entire body grows weak, hot and cold, pleasant shivers running down her spine until she can barely string her thoughts together. She likes the danger, as simple as that.

She likes slipping closer to the edge, testing Irene’s patience, seeing how far she can take her down the path of violence and anger, how much of it she can draw out. She never manages much, fear eventually clawing its way out from within the arousal and stilling her rash impulses. Self-preservation always speaks louder in the end.

But she knows. Beyond all the games and the cautious testing of boundaries, even if she were the meekest, most well-behaved little doll of a woman. One day, Irene will bury her knife deep inside her, and then she’ll look at the body underneath her and she won’t want to stop. And she won’t.

Before she can get her drinks, a hand wraps itself around her wrist. It’s too coarse to be Irene’s, but she turns to face its owner without concern, a coy smile on her glistening lips. Only her Irene can hurt her, she knows she’ll make sure of it.

A man’s face is far too close to hers, as close as they must be to hear each other over the loud music. “Hey there”, he shouts, his voice barely audible. “I couldn’t help but notice you and your friend dancing” He nods behind her at that, and she turns to see Irene close by, head tilted in curiosity but making no move to come closer. She reaches out her hand to call her over, enjoying the small moment of control as Irene obeys easily and moves close enough to hear their convo.

“You’re both very pretty”, he continues, still addressing her. That’s something else that doesn’t happen often. Usually, Irene’s imposing presence is enough to unofficially identify her as the decision-maker of the couple. This man must be particularly unobservant. Irene moves a little closer. Seungwan feels a strange tingling sensation, like an opportunity is about to present itself.

“You know, I’m in town for a few days and I was hoping to have some fun while I’m here” His thumb swipes over the underside of her wrist and she feels nothing but vague contempt, but she brings up her free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, coy smile still firmly in place. “Maybe you two could help me with that”

She glances at Irene, who is sporting an amused smile which is just ambiguous enough to be taken as genuine interest. In her eyes, something is beginning to stir, but it’s not just her usual possessive streak, letting Seungwan know when it’s time for the act to stop. Something else is growing, something new and exciting. Seungwan taps her finger against her lips while she appears to mull it over, well aware that it provides the perfect excuse for her suitor to stare at her mouth.

Then she smiles brightly, which seems to be answer enough for him, because he’s immediately talking again. He introduces himself, but she doesn’t bother to memorize the name. Another glance at Irene reveals that she’s made the right decision. She loves it when they’re on the same page.

That’s the thing about them. She knows one day Irene will kill her. That’s been her fate from the first time they met. But everybody dies, really, and what better way to go? And to be completely honest, it’s the very inevitability of it that does it for her. The knowledge that every stab could be her last. In some way, she can’t wait. To see the way Irene’s eyes will change in that final moment, when there’s no turning back.

Sometimes it feels like their entire relationship is just them building up to it. Like all the cuts and bruises, all the times when Irene begins to lose control are just teasing. Foreplay. If that’s all you do, then it’s not really sex. It only works if you know what’s to follow.

Seungwan likes foreplay. She likes it a lot. So when she reaches out with her free hand to shake his and moves in close to whisper her name in his ear, she is already thinking of what will come. Of how she’ll finally see it, in Irene’s eyes. And then, when she’s lying in bed at night, squirming, in desperate need of release, she’ll know what to picture.

When she speaks, her lips nearly touch his ear. She can see the little hairs at the back of his neck raise at the sensation. Even though Irene is behind her, she can feel the intensity of her gaze, the well-concealed displeasure with which she watches the exchange. She’ll get to express it soon enough. Her tongue curls around the syllables and nothing has ever felt more natural.

“Nice to meet you. You can call me Wendy”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts, it's always a pleasure to read them and it really makes writing worth it. I'm working on another wenrene fic, which will be a little bigger and a lot fluffier, so look forward to that. Also this fic was heavily inspired by Killing Eve, so please watch that show if you haven't already, it's really great


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